A Tangle in Abilene
by PollyVictorian
Summary: Pre-series. Scott goes West to rescue Julie's brother from the clutches of con men - and gunfighters.
1. Chapter 1

"Mr Garrett, I need your help."

Scott Garrett was not a person to refuse anyone help. When the request came from a beautiful young woman, well, that added an element of pleasure that he definitely appreciated.

"How can I be of assistance, Miss Dennison?" he asked with a smile. Julie Dennison looked up at him, her sweet face shadowed with anxiety.

"It's my brother. He's gone to Kansas," she said.

"Kansas! What on earth could take him out there?" Scott queried. Perry Dennison was not the type of young man Scott would have imagined heading out West. A Boston drawing room with the windows open would be his idea of rough conditions.

"He's got into company with some dreadful men," explained Miss Dennison. "You know he's just turned eighteen. Well, that means he's come into control of a sum of money he inherited from our grandmother. Stupid woman, it should have been in trust for him until he was twenty-one…" The sweet look on Julie Dennison's face changed to an angry one and for a moment her voice changed from pleading to furious, then she seemed to recollect herself and said, "Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr Garrett, please forgive me. It's just that I'm so worried about Perry. My grandmother adored him but he really is too young to be able to handle the money properly." Not too young, thought Scott, just too immature and downright stupid, but of course he didn't say anything like that. He knew better than to contradict a pretty girl.

"These men," she went on, "they've filled his head with talk about making a fortune out in Kansas in some sort of land speculation. They're just con men! Perry will be lucky if he sees even a token profit. Most likely, they'll get every penny of the money off him then tell him some pathetic tale and walk off with it all. And he won't even realised he's been robbed! He's so trusting, you see…" Gullible, you mean, thought Scott, but suddenly pulled his thoughts up. Whether trusting or gullible, the boy obviously needed to be helped.

"Didn't your father advise him against having dealings with these men?" he asked.

"Father's in Washington," Miss Dennison told him. "I thought of writing to him but I know he has very important business there and I didn't want to worry him. I thought it would be alright until he got back but then yesterday morning Perry slipped out of the house before breakfast and left on an early train. He didn't even say goodbye, just left a note saying he was going to Abilene and would write as soon as he could." She made a small noise that could have been a sob being held back. "I spoke to Mr Colbert, our banker. He said Perry withdrew all of his money the day before. Oh, Mr Garrett, what if they get it all off him and Perry finds himself stranded in some horrible place out West, all alone! He won't know what to do. And how humiliating it will all be for him! And for Father, as well."

She bent her head. Scott could see her distress was not feigned. She was right, Perry probably wouldn't have the sense to wire home for his return train fare. And she was right about the effect it would have on her father. He was getting old – he had married late in life – and his health was not good. Scott liked and respected Mr Dennison. Privately, he thought a misadventure out West would do Perry no real harm. It might cost him some money, but if it instilled a little sense into him, it would be a good bargain. But for old Mr Dennison's sake, he was prepared to do what he could to bail the boy out.

"And how can I help, Miss Dennison," he asked gently.

"You said once that you'd spent some time in Abilene," she said, looking at him intently.

"Yes, that's right, I was stationed there for a few months while I was in the army," he replied, feeling rather flattered that she had remembered what had just been a passing remark.

"Then you'll know people there, won't you?" she asked eagerly. "You could write to them, or wire them, and ask them to help Perry, look out for him when he arrives and get him away from those con men." She reached out her hand and touched his sleeve for a moment, then immediately drew it back. "Oh, please, Mr Garrett, I don't know anyone else who might have contacts way out there. I don't have anyone else to turn to…" The pleading look she gave him, on its own, would have decided him.

"I'll go out to Abilene myself, Miss Dennison, and bring him back before any harm is done." She stared at him.

"Oh Mr Garrett, that's more than I would ever have asked! But if you would… oh, I would be so, so grateful!" A gushing woman usually made Scott feel more impatient than a gentleman should feel towards a lady, but on this occasion he found it quite gratifying.

"It will be my pleasure, Miss Dennison."

* * *

Scott told his grandfather the story that evening.

"I doubt that the boy is any real danger, sir, but it would be a kindness to Mr and Miss Dennison to make sure he gets back with his person, and hopefully his purse, intact."

Harlan Garrett considered for a moment. Like his grandson, he really didn't give two pins about Perry Dennison possibly being swindled out of some money – if the boy didn't have the sense to keep hold of it, he didn't deserve to have it. But the fact that Julie Dennison had appealed to Scotty for help, and Scotty was eager to give it, indicated possibilities. The Dennisons were one of the oldest families in Boston. Harlan Garrett was powerful and rich, but he was only second generation. A match with Arthur Dennison's daughter would give Scotty a place at the very top of Boston society. Moreover, he knew that Scotty had been restless since he came back to Boston. What better way to settle him down than an advantageous marriage to a beautiful young woman?

"You're right, Scotty, the Dennisons are amongst the Garrett family's oldest friends. We certainly should help them if we can. I can spare you for a few weeks. You go out to – what was the name of the place? – and see what you can do." Harlan Garrett beamed, every inch the noble gentleman, the staunch friend, the calculating accountant.

"Thank you, sir. If you're agreeable, I'll leave first thing in the morning." Scott Garrett spoke respectfully, every inch the dutiful grandson. But it occurred to him suddenly that in Abilene, he wouldn't be Scott Garrett. All of his acquaintances out in Kansas knew him as Scott Lancer.


	2. Chapter 2

As Scott jumped off the train in Abilene, the first thing he noticed was the noise of cattle. Lots of cattle. The next thing he noticed was the dust. Lots of dust. Probably from the cattle. The heat he'd been noticing for quite a while. He had hoped it would be better when he got out of the train. It wasn't. Heat and dust and cattle. What was he doing here when he could be strolling along the waterside in Boston? Then he recalled the look on Julie's face when he had promised her his help.

His first plan of action was easy: get to the hotel, have a bath and eat a meal in a leisurely manner, instead of in a rush before a train left. Once he'd done that, he would start asking around for young Dennison. With any luck, the boy would already be disillusioned enough to come home and the whole business could be over with in a few days.

He'd asked Julie – somehow he'd started thinking of her as Julie, rather than Miss Dennison – for all the information she could give him about the characters her brother had gotten mixed up with. She knew their names: Carling, Jardine and Aycliffe. She was a little vague on exactly what the supposed land deal was but thought it involved buying land from the local ranchers and selling it at a profit to a man who was in the business of shipping cattle back East. That made no sense to Scott. He had heard of the man they presumably meant: one Joseph McCoy. But why would he want to buy large parcels of land? If his business was booming, then yes, he might want to buy land around the railhead to build extra holding pens – but whole ranches? And even if he did, why didn't he just buy it directly from the ranchers, if they were willing to sell? Surely even Perry could see how silly the proposition was. Julie said that apparently it all had something to do with a cattle disease. A cattle disease? It sounded stranger and stranger. Scott's first conclusion was that they had simply talked a lot of nonsense to the boy, made themselves sound like cattle experts and convinced him that there was some golden opportunity here, even though he couldn't understand what it was. A plain, outright swindle.

There were just a couple of points that were making him uneasy. The first was: why had Perry gone out to Kansas? Why hadn't he just handed his money over to the fellows in Boston then run up massive bills in expectation of the marvellous profits? That was far more his style.

The second point had its roots not in anything Julie had said but rather in the thoughts that had run through Scott's own mind when he was trying to figure it all out. Assuming that for some reason – to do with this cattle disease, perhaps – McCoy or someone like him did want to buy land, why didn't he buy it straight from the ranchers – _if the ranchers were willing to sell._ Could it be that the ranchers didn't want to sell but these men had some plan for pressuring them into doing so? That could mean that Julie's brother had gotten mixed up in something very unpleasant indeed. Scott decided to proceed with caution.

The Drovers' Cottage Hotel was comfortable, the bath was delightful and the meal was very good. Scott lingered over a brandy and planned his next move. He had already asked at the hotel desk, but no-one named Dennison had checked in. As it was the only good hotel in the town, then presumably Perry was staying at a private house. Since Perry had no acquaintances west of St Louis, that must mean he was staying with one of those three men, Carling, Jardine or Aycliffe. Ergo, the first thing to do was to start asking around for men or families of that name.

Scott heard a voice: "Captain Lancer!" It took him a moment to register that it was himself the speaker was hailing. He turned to see a slightly bald, very pudgy man whom he recognised but couldn't quite put a name to.

"Captain Lancer, how delightful to see you again. And what brings you to Abilene?" Without giving Scott a chance to answer, he turned to the two gentlemen accompanying him. "Mr McCoy, Mr Aycliffe, allow me to introduce my friend Captain – oh, no, I do apologise, of course I see you're out of uniform now – my friend Mr Lancer. He was Captain Lancer when I first had the pleasure of knowing him. He and his fine men were stationed just outside the town and did splendid work, protecting us all while the town got back on its feet after the war. Very different days now, yes, very different indeed, eh, Mr McCoy?"

The pudgy man finally paused for breath as he turned to one of the men with him. Sometime during the flow of words, Scott had remembered the fellow's name: Samuel Foyle, owner of a very small bank, several times unsuccessful candidate for mayor, rumoured to have been involved in a duel back East which necessitated his coming to Kansas to escape the consequences, rumoured to have started the rumour himself in order to build up his prestige.

The man Foyle had addressed as McCoy had an amused smile on his face. "Very different indeed, Mr Foyle." He extended a hand to Scott. "Very pleased to meet you, Mr Lancer. Are you related to Murdoch Lancer, from California, by any chance?" Scott was about to automatically reply that he wasn't, then suddenly realized who McCoy was talking about.

"Yes, I am. Pleased to meet you, Mr McCoy." Scott hoped McCoy wouldn't ask for any more detail about his relationship to Murdoch Lancer. It would be awkward to explain.

"Splendid, splendid," said McCoy. "Always delighted to meet someone connected with the cattle business. The railroad will be going right through to California soon; we'll be shipping Longhorns from the Central Valley this time next year." Scott hadn't known there were Longhorns in California, he thought they only came from Texas. But then, he knew almost as little about cattle as he did about Murdoch Lancer. He hoped he could shift the conversation away from both. He was rescued by Samuel Foyle introducing the second gentleman.

"And Mr Lancer, this is Mr Aycliffe. He's not quite in the cattle business, but is certainly engaged in helping it along."

Scott shook hands with the man, with a polite, "How do you do?" Aycliffe, acquainted with McCoy, and "helping along" the cattle business. Almost certainly, this was one of the men he was looking for. Time to start asking some questions.

"Do sit down, gentlemen," he said, indicating the free chairs at his table. He signalled the waiter, and ordered coffee and brandy.

"Thank you, Mr Lancer, thank you," said Foyle, taking a seat. Scott recalled that he had always been eager for free food and drink. Especially drink. "And do tell me, Mr Lancer, what has brought you back to Abilene?" Quick to attempt to ferret out information, was Foyle, but not very subtle at doing so and not at all good at making use of what information he did get.

"Just pursuing some business with a friend," replied Scott with a smile.

"Cattle business?" asked Aycliffe.

"Indirectly." Scott thought his answer was vague enough to deflect any further enquiry along those lines but Aycliffe latched onto the subject.

"We must further our acquaintance, Mr Lancer," he said. "I haven't had the privilege of meeting Mr Murdoch Lancer myself, but his reputation as one of the leading cattlemen of the country is certainly well known. It could well be that your business and mine may overlap – to our mutual benefit."

Good heavens, this was a twist Scott hadn't anticipated. It had been years since he'd given any sort of thought to Murdoch Lancer. Even with the talk of cattle back in Boston, no connection with his unknown father had come into his mind. Actually he hadn't even been sure, until McCoy spoke a moment ago, what sort of ranch his father had: sheep, horses, cattle, could have been any of those for all he knew.

Now it seemed that his name – his legal name of Lancer, that he'd enlisted under when he joined the army and which, as he'd recalled in Boston and had been reminded of again by Foyle's greeting, all his acquaintances in Abilene knew him by – was going to connect him with the cattle business!

It might prove useful, however. If it came to the point where he needed to find out exactly what sort of scheme these fellows were up to, they, or McCoy, or even Foyle if he knew anything, might be more willing to talk to an insider, another cattleman. Scott smiled to himself at the thought. Him, a cattleman! Still, perhaps he had better study up on cattle diseases tonight, just in case he needed to act the part.

Meanwhile, here was a good opportunity to get some information out of Aycliffe and perhaps pick up some clues as to Perry's whereabouts.

"And what sort of business are you actually in, Mr Aycliffe?" he asked, sounding very interested. Easy, because he was interested, although not in the way that Aycliffe was thinking of.

"Negotiation, Mr Lancer, negotiation," replied Aycliffe. "I and my colleagues specialise in smoothing the paths of businessmen like yourself and Mr McCoy, here."

"And how do you do that, sir?" Scott was genuinely intrigued.

"Well, as you undoubtedly know, plans to move business forward can sometimes be delayed or obstructed by lesser men who are acting for the wrong reasons; putting their own interests before the greater good or even putting ridiculous notions of pride or principles before their own good. You would be astonished how often that happens," he declared, obviously warming to his subject. "Resolving such situations often takes considerable time, and frequently means involving the law or even, in some terrible cases, violence. Now, I and several other gentlemen have dedicated ourselves to being of service to good men of business by using persuasion and negotiation, rather than confrontation, to make foolish men see reason."

Scott was impressed by the man's skill with rhetoric, at least. He wanted to hear the rest. "But how can that be done, Mr Aycliffe?" he prompted. "Simply talking a man into being co-operative sounds all very well, but if, for example, I wanted to buy a piece of land and the owner had no reason to want to sell it, I don't see how he could be brought to agree to the sale, simply by persuasion." He watched for Aycliffe's reaction to the bait he had planted and was not disappointed. He could recognize eagerness and greed when he saw them, and he saw them right then. Now, what would Aycliffe say to get him in? Scott was surprised by the answer.

"Modern thinking, Mr Lancer. The 19th century is an enlightened time. Perhaps you have heard of Ralph Waldo Emerson?" Scott nodded. "I believe I have." Actually he was very familiar with Emerson's writings, but couldn't really see any connection with Longhorn cattle. Aycliffe could though, apparently. He went on, "The work of Mr Emerson and others like him has given us a greater understanding of the minds, and indeed the souls, of men. It is this understanding, Mr Lancer, which gives us 'the spells of persuasion, the keys of power' that enable my colleagues and I to help men of lesser knowledge to understand what is truly in their best interests, and to remove the obstructions and barriers which their ignorance places in the way of good men such as yourself."

It sounded impressive. It sounded noble. It almost sounded believable, except that it didn't explain why they needed a large sum of money from a gullible young man in Boston. And Scott really didn't think that Emerson wrote his essays with Longhorn cattle in mind.

But his object wasn't to expose Aycliffe and his colleagues. Scott's only purpose was to find Perry Dennison and get the silly boy out of here. He'd establish this contact with Aycliffe in case he needed to use it, but he still hoped he might be able to find Perry without getting too involved in all the obviously shady business going on. He pushed back his chair.

"I would certainly like to have a further talk with you, Mr Aycliffe. I think you could be right, your business and mine may well overlap. But if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I need to go and renew some old acquaintances. Mr Foyle," he turned to the little banker, "is Reverend Thomas still in Abilene?"

"Why yes, he is," replied Foyle. "You'll find his house and the church in the same place as when you were last here, although both have been considerably improved, thanks to Mr McCoy's public spirit and generosity. And Mr Lancer," he added as Scott was preparing to leave, "please don't hesitate to call on me if I can be of any service in your present business." There they were again, eagerness and greed.

"I'm much obliged to you, sir. Goodbye, gentlemen," Scott said.

"Goodbye, Mr Lancer," said McCoy. "We may well meet again – I would certainly be pleased to help the Lancer ranch ship its splendid cattle to the best markets, and get the best prices."

Scott smiled and nodded, and left the dining-room. It occurred to him that if McCoy ever should encounter Murdoch Lancer and mention that he had met Mr Scott Lancer in Abilene, Murdoch Lancer might not even know who McCoy was talking about.

He was surprised at the sudden bitterness he felt.


	3. Chapter 3

Scott left the hotel and started walking up the main street. He had been surprised, when he got off the train, at the size of the town now. McCoy's interest in the little settlement at the head of the Chisholm Trail had certainly made a difference to the place. Even so, it was not so big that he might not encounter Perry Dennison by the simple expedient of walking about. If need be, he would tackle Aycliffe directly as to Perry's whereabouts but he had a feeling his job would be easier if he could find the boy himself and talk to him without interference from Aycliffe's slick patter. He would explore a little, then call on Reverend Thomas. Actually, it would be good to see the Reverend again. His unit had been without a chaplain while it was stationed here, and Reverend Thomas had for all intents and purposes taken on the role, in addition to his own church duties. A good man, who'd been very good to all the soldiers, Scott himself included.

Scott slowly walked the length of the main street, noting with amazement but without surprise the number of saloons. Cattle need cowboys to get them to the railhead. Once at the railhead, the cattle no longer need the cowboys, so the cowboys get paid off. And cowboys who have been paid, need saloons. He just hoped he wouldn't have to venture into any of them to find Perry. He doubted it though; if they were rougher than he liked, then they would scare the pants off Perry Dennison. No, Perry would be in the most comfortable place he could find, probably feeling that he was enduring hardship if he couldn't get ice in his drink.

Near the end of the street, Scott turned down a side road. He saw the church a little way ahead, and Reverend Thomas' house beside it. Both, as Foyle had said, were considerably extended and improved. Scott was glad to see it. If anyone deserved support from the leaders of the community, it was Reverend Thomas.

A servant answered his knock and went to announce Mr Scott Lancer to Reverend Thomas. Scott was finding it surprisingly easy to go back to being Scott Lancer. The surroundings, he supposed. It had been strange, when he first went into the army, to be called by a name he had never used. But life in the military, engaged in a war, had been so different to the life he had known in Boston that it had seemed appropriate in a way that he should have a different name. It was as if he had had two different lives – certainly most of his Boston friends and relatives, with the exception of some cousins who had also served in the war, had no conception of what that other life had been like.

Now, back here where he had been Captain Scott Lancer, 7th Cavalry, he was Mr Scott Lancer, civilian. But this time, the different name wasn't part of a different life. He'd only be Scott Lancer for a few days.

Reverend Thomas came out and advanced towards him, his hand outstretched in delighted greeting.

"Captain Lancer! How wonderful to see you! Come in, come in!"

"Good to see you, Reverend," answered Scott, feeling real pleasure at the meeting. "But I'm not a captain any more – I left the army some time ago."

"Really?" said the Reverend, looking at him shrewdly. He had gotten to know Scott Lancer pretty well in those earlier days, and guessed that there was something behind him leaving a career he obviously took pride in and loved. But he said nothing more about it for the moment, simply urging Scott into the sitting room.

A man was seated in an armchair. He rose as Scott and Reverend Thomas entered the sitting room. The minister introduced the two men. "Mr Lancer, this is Mr Harkness. He owns a ranch to the east of town. Mr Lancer is an old friend of mine, Clem. He was with the cavalry unit that was stationed here after the war."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr Harkness," Scott greeted the rancher.

"Always pleased to meet any friend of Reverend Thomas'," Harkness replied.

"Sit down, sit down, I'll ring for some more coffee," Reverend Thomas said, but the housekeeper was already bringing it in.

"Saw you coming in, Captain Lancer. Made the coffee nice and strong, the way you like it," she said, putting the coffee pot and an extra cup and saucer on the table. It could have been two days ago that she last saw Scott, instead of two years.

Scott laughed. "Clara, it's good to see you again! I told the Reverend many times in the old days, and I'll tell him again now, you are an absolute treasure!"

"I try to do my job well," was all Clara replied, but she was beaming as she left the room. She had always liked young Captain Lancer. Good to see him back again.

"Well now, Scott," Reverend Thomas began, slipping back into the familiarity of earlier times. "I'll ask the three obvious questions. First, how are you? Second, what have you been doing the last couple of years? And third, what brings you to Abilene?"

"To answer in order," smiled Scott, "First, I am very well, thank you. Second, I've been in Boston, helping my grandfather with his business. He's getting on in years, and wanted me back with him." Which was not quite true. Yes, his grandfather was getting on, and yes, he had wanted Scott back in Boston, but as for helping with the family business, Harlan Garrett no more needed help managing his business interests than Scott needed help stirring his coffee. Apart from a token appearance at board meetings now and then, Scott had no responsibilities whatsoever and, although he would hardly admit it even to himself, he was starting to go crazy with boredom.

"And thirdly, I'm in Abilene to look for a friend." Scott had decided to ask Reverend Thomas for his help. The minister would know all the respectable people in town and could suggest where to start looking. "His name is Perry Dennison. He's come out to Kansas on some sort of wild adventure,"... no need to go into details about what sort of adventure just yet ... "but he's only eighteen, and his family are frantic with worry. I said I'd come out here and look for him, try to persuade him to go home."

"Quite a journey, all the way from Boston, Mr Lancer," Harkness remarked. Scott smiled.

"I didn't mind the trip. My grandfather said he could spare me, and it's given me the chance to catch up with some old friends." Scott felt no unease at Harkness knowing the reason for his trip. If he was a local rancher, then he was unlikely to be on the same side of the fence as Aycliffe and company.

"Does this young man, Dennison, have any friends in Abilene?" asked Reverend Thomas.

"Not that I know of," Scott replied. "Apparently he's heard wild tales of Kansas being the land of golden opportunity. He sneaked out of the house one morning while his father was out of town. Left a note for his sister saying he was going to Abilene and left on an early train." All true, as far as it went.

"And he's not staying at the hotel, I take it?" the minister queried.

"No, I asked, but he's never checked in there."

"Very strange," commented Harkness. "There's not a great deal for a young man to do in Abilene, unless he goes to work on one of the ranches. Would he be likely to do that, do you think?"

"No, I don't think ranching would appeal to him," Scott replied, almost bursting into laughter at the thought. Perry Dennison, on a ranch? The boy had trouble mounting a horse without falling off on the other side.

"It's hard to think where he might be, then," said Reverend Thomas. "It's quite worrying – the young man may have got into unpleasant company. I'll enquire for you tomorrow, Scott. A young man straight from Boston would be quite noticeable. Someone is sure to have seen or heard of him." Scott smiled to himself. That was Reverend Thomas through and through – concerned about the wellbeing of a young man he had never even met. The boy might be in trouble – that was enough for him.

"Thank you, sir, I would appreciate it," Scott said.

"Mr Lancer, are you any relation to Mr Murdoch Lancer, from California?" asked Harkness. Again! Scott wondered what was going on. When did his father become the most famous cattleman west of the Mississippi? But this might be a good chance to find out about this mysterious cattle disease that Julie had mentioned.

"Yes, I am. Are you a cattleman yourself, Mr Harkness?" Gloss over Murdoch Lancer. Get onto the cattle.

"Certainly am. Shorthorn cattle, that's what we raise in this part of the country." So, thought Scott, there are Shorthorns as well as Longhorns. His knowledge of cattle had just doubled.

"I've heard that you've been having some trouble with disease lately, hereabouts?" he led into the subject.

"You've heard right," Harkness' face darkened. "Spanish fever. It's being brought in by those damned Longhorns. McCoy brings 'em up from Texas and they bring the fever with them. Doesn't affect the Longhorns, only the good cattle." Scott deduced that Shorthorns were the good cattle – to the ranchers who raised Shorthorns.

"But how do the Longhorns come into contact with your cattle, to spread the disease?" asked Scott. "Surely they're just driven up the trail and into the holding yards. They don't go onto your land and among your stock, do they?" Harkness looked at him oddly, as if he had displayed some strange ignorance, which he probably had.

"It's the sheer numbers of the Longhorns that does it," he explained. "Especially if there are a few herds coming in at one time, they do spread out onto our lands. It only takes a few strays – and even the best cowboys can lose a few, out of herds that size – and the ticks can jump onto our animals. And it spreads like wildfire. There's been more that one rancher lost every head of cattle, and had to sell up and leave."

"A bad business," said Scott, and meant it. Men losing their livelihoods was no joke. "There must be a way to deal with it, though. Some way to stop this Spanish fever getting into your herds."

"Yes, there is," said Harkness. "Stop the Longhorns coming in. Get McCoy to move his holding yards somewhere else, where they'll do no harm."

"That would be quite an undertaking," Scott remarked, "and a very costly one, I should think. And I understand that Mr McCoy has made a considerable investment in the town itself. If he were to pull his business out of Abilene, just think of the effect it would have on the town."

"You're right, Mr Lancer, it would have an effect on the town," Harkness agreed. "If the Longhorns and their cowboys went somewhere else, the saloons and brothels would follow them. There'd be nothing left but respectable ranchers and a respectable community. Quite a devastating effect, wouldn't you say, Reverend Thomas?" Harkness turned to the minister.

"Well, I can hardly say that aspect of things would be undesirable," replied the minister, "but Mr McCoy is a man of considerable community spirit. I'm sure some compromise can be worked out, without the need for any unpleasantness." He looked meaningly at the rancher.

"I very much wish it were so, Reverend," Harkness answered grimly.

* * *

Aycliffe headed for the back room of the Old Bull Saloon where he knew he would find Jardine and Carling.

"You've taken your time, Aycliffe," said Jardine, looking up from the cards he was holding as Aycliffe entered the room. "Was there a pretty girl over at the hotel?"

Aycliffe ignored the banter. "I met someone very interesting this evening. Fellow named Lancer, some connection of Murdoch Lancer, the cattle baron from California. He's here looking for land to buy. My guess is these Lancers are expanding, maybe going to build their own cattle holding yards here, or even start up another ranch and raise their stock right next to the railhead. Doesn't matter, the main thing is, if this Scott Lancer wants land, we can get it for him."

"Why?" said Carling.

"Why?" returned Aycliffe. "Fast, cash profits, that's why! Better than all this wheeling and dealing with McCoy for a share of his company."

"I'd rather have control of a booming company, with the profits coming in year after year," said Carling. "That's my idea of good money. That's why I came into this with you, Aycliffe. If you're going to pull out now and settle for some petty little land deal ..."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, let's not start any disputing!" Jardine interjected. "I agree with you, Carling, but Aycliffe is smart to keep a lookout for other opportunities. Just in case the deal with McCoy does go awry, it will do no harm to have another option to fall back on."

Jardine leaned back in his chair and smiled as Carling and Aycliffe continued to glare at each other. It made no difference to him if the other two came to blows, so long as Carling was able to get his experts in from down south and Aycliffe continued to manage the contact with McCoy, so that McCoy never realised that he, Jardine, had any involvement in the deal – or indeed was anywhere near Abilene.


	4. Chapter 4

Scott walked back to the hotel, deep in thought. The local ranchers wanted to get rid of McCoy, and were willing to resort to "unpleasantness" to do it. No doubt McCoy was quite aware of this and at a guess, was employing Aycliffe and his fellows to "negotiate". What gentlemanly words everyone was using! he thought. In plain language, there was a fight brewing and more than likely, young Dennison's money was being used to pay for "negotiating tools" of some sort. What sort, Scott didn't want to know and was not going to try to find out. He'd track down Perry tomorrow, drag him onto the train by the scruff of the neck if need be, and leave the Longhorns and the Shorthorns to work it out amongst themselves.

"Mr Garrett!" Scott looked up and found himself face to face with Perry Dennison.

"Mr Garrett, what on earth brings you here to Abilene?" the young man exclaimed. Scott heaved a sigh of relief and seized the boy's arm.

"You do," Scott told him. "At least, your father and sister do. They're frantic with worry. Come on, let's get a drink and have a talk." He led the way into the hotel.

"Now," he said to Perry when they were settled with a couple of whiskies, "what's this all about? Your sister has a vague idea that you're involved in some sort of land speculation and your father," he added sternly, "apparently has no knowledge of this business at all. Don't you think you should have waited and consulted him before entering into any sort of financial dealings? After all, you're not actually of age yet, despite having control of this legacy of yours."

That was one feature of the affair that had astonished Scott. At eighteen, he would never have considered making any decision without the approval of his grandfather. Even now, at twenty-three, he would always do his grandfather the courtesy of informing him of any major action he was considering. To him, it was just the basic respect that was due to a parent. Perry, however, had obviously been brought up differently. Perhaps because he became a father so late in life, old Mr Dennison had always been lenient, if not downright indulgent, with both his children. Now Perry laughed.

"Stuff!" he said. "I'm quite old enough to do as I like with my own money. Besides, there wasn't time to wait until the old man got back from Washington. This deal is being done now. I wasn't going to miss out on a golden opportunity because of old-fashioned notions about parental approval."

"And what is this golden opportunity?" asked Scott. He'd leave the debate about filial duty to another time.

"Well, you see, Garrett, I was fortunate enough to meet up with a certain Mr Aycliffe and Mr Jardine, just at the time I came into control of some money." I wonder how they heard about the inheritance, thought Scott. Perry was continuing, "They were in need of a little capital to pursue a business venture out here in the West and I've been able to help them." Scott wondered how much 'a little' was but decided it didn't really matter. Whether Perry lost a little, a lot or all of his inheritance was probably the least important aspect of the affair. Getting him out of here before the real trouble started was the main thing. But he was curious to know what tale the fraudsters had spun for the boy.

"What exactly is this capital going to be used for? Buying land?" he asked. Perry shook his head.

"No, not land – cattle, from Texas" he said.

"What do you want with cattle from Texas?" queried Scott. "I would have said there were quite enough cattle in Abilene already, from what I've seen."

"Ah, but some of them are the wrong sort of cattle," Perry explained. Here we go again, thought Scott, the good cattle and the bad cattle. He wondered which length of horn Perry was going to favour. Perry went on, with the air of someone displaying superior knowledge.

"You see, cattle are brought here to Abilene from further south, mainly Texas, and are shipped back east by rail. It's an incredibly profitable business, Garrett, I tell you. The fellow running it all, McCoy, is making a fortune, just by loading a lot of cows onto trains. But the local ranchers aren't happy about it. They're trying to put McCoy out of business."

"Why?" asked Scott. He already knew why, but he wanted to find out what Perry had been told.

"Because the cattle coming up from Texas are bringing a disease with them, some sort of fever. The Texan cattle are a good, strong breed called Longhorns and the fever doesn't affect them, but the local ranchers mostly have a weak breed, called Shorthorns, and once the fever gets into their herds, the cattle just die off," Perry explained. All true enough so far, thought Scott, but let's hear the rest of the tale.

"Well, I can see how that would make the local ranchers unhappy, but just how are you going to make profits out of unhappy ranchers and sick cattle?" he prompted.

"By persuading the ranchers to get rid of their weak Shorthorns and raise Longhorns instead," declared Perry triumphantly. "That way, they'll have no reason to want to get rid of McCoy. Quite the opposite, in fact. They'll be making good profits by selling their cattle to McCoy and they won't even have the expense of driving them to the railhead. It's the perfect solution!"

"I can see that it would be," said Scott, and actually he could. It would be a very sensible option for the ranchers and he wondered why they hadn't considered it. Or had they? Which led to his next question. "So tell me, Dennison, why haven't they done it already? And why are you going to be buying cattle?"

Perry ordered another whisky, then leaned forward and said eagerly, "Most of the ranchers can't afford to replace their entire herds so I'm going to finance the purchase of Longhorns to re-stock the local ranches. In return, we get mortgages on the land. That's where the profit is going to be." He sat back looking pleased with himself. The waiter brought his drink and he took a sip then looked at Scott. He seemed to be waiting to be congratulated on his business acumen.

Scott was a little bemused. What Perry had just put forward seemed to be a sound business proposition. The actual figures would have to be looked into, of course, thought the accountant's grandson, but in principle it sounded very good. The profit would be long-term, but steady, and mortgages on land around a booming town were excellent security. As for the ranchers, well, mortgaging their land wouldn't be a pleasant option but it was far better than losing their livelihood altogether. There would surely be plenty who would take up the offer. He was starting to think that perhaps Julie had panicked unnecessarily.

There were one or two questions that still had to be answered, however. Scott looked over at Perry and said,

"You seem to have found something with great potential, Dennison." Perry looked pleased. Scott went on, "One thing I'd like to know, though – and your father will want to know – what are these prospective business partners of yours bringing to the table? You're supplying the capital – what are they putting into the deal?"

"Expertise," said Perry. "Mr Jardine and another associate, Mr Carling, are cattlemen. They'll be arranging the purchase of the cattle. Mr Carling has connections in Texas and Mexico and will make sure we get the best. We're doing this honestly, Garrett, we want to give the ranchers a fair deal. I wouldn't be going into this if I thought they were going to be cheated in any way." Scott believed him. Frivolous as he might be, young Dennison was totally honest and, deep down, good-hearted.

"And what about Aycliffe? What's his part?" asked Scott.

"He's handling the negotiations with the ranchers. Some of them are strangely stiff-necked. Pride, I suppose. These Westerners are like that. I don't suppose you know much about the West, do you, Garrett?" Perry asked, with the superiority of one who had been in the West for nearly a week.

"A little. I spent several months stationed just outside Abilene while I was in the army. That's why your sister thought of asking me for my help." And perhaps for other reasons as well, thought Scott to himself. He rather liked to think so. "But tell me, Perry, why did you need to come out here? You could have sent the money without having to leave Boston. Why did these gentlemen want you here in person? "

"Prestige. The Dennison name. We need the backing and the goodwill of the local business community and of Mr McCoy himself. My being here will give our proposition a credibility my partners alone couldn't achieve. And they themselves will be treated with a lot more respect when it's known that they're associated with a Dennison," added Perry smugly.

Now Scott was smelling a rat again. The Dennison name was certainly prestigious in Boston but away from the east coast, he doubted that it would make any impression on anyone. The Dennisons had always looked down on the Garretts a little, as social inferiors, but it occurred to Scott ironically that he himself was probably being accorded more prestige out here from bearing the Lancer name than Perry would get by being a Dennison. But Aycliffe and his fellows had obviously played on Perry's vanity and ignorance to get him out here. Why? The question was worrying and, given the trouble he'd scented earlier between the ranchers and McCoy, Scott had a feeling that whatever the answer was, it would be bad. He was coming back to his original intention: just get the boy out of here.

"Your sister said you'd withdrawn all your money from the bank and brought it out here with you. Have you paid it out for these cattle yet?"

"No, of course not. Do you think I'm foolish?" Scott resisted the temptation to answer and Perry continued. "The cattle will be paid for when they arrive in good condition. Meanwhile, my money is safe and sound in the bank here in Abilene."

"Which bank?" Scott asked, although he thought he knew the answer, given Samuel Foyle's obsequious hovering around Aycliffe.

"Foyle's Fidelity and Mercantile. I've met the owner, Mr Samuel Foyle. He was very keen to meet me personally, in fact." The smug look was back on Perry's face. "Having a Dennison as a client will be quite a feather in his cap. He's a very astute businessman, actually." Scott had been taking a sip of his drink and only narrowly avoided choking on it but Perry didn't notice and went on, "If you like, I could arrange for you to meet him, Garrett. With my recommendation, I'm sure he'd be willing to point you in the direction of some good investments out here. The West is booming, you know!"

As his grandfather's business interests included land, railroads and silver mines in several Western territories, this was not exactly news to Scott, but he only said, "As it happens, I made the acquaintance of Mr Foyle when I was here with the army. I'm glad to hear your money's safe, at least."

"Why shouldn't it be safe?" Perry's head jerked up. "Even if it had already gone to pay for the cattle, it's a sound investment and I'd soon have it back, with a good profit."

"Soon have it back? How do you figure that, Dennison?" Scott raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Mortgages are long-term investments. You'll get a steady income, hopefully a good one, but it will be years before you get all your capital back. Surely you realise that?" He paused. "Or is there something else involved in this deal?"

Perry looked a little uneasy. "Well, yes, there is, actually. Once the mortgages are in place, Mr McCoy is interested in taking them over. Of course, he'll pay enough to cover the original investment, plus a consideration for the eventual profits. It's a brilliant deal, Garrett," his enthusiasm was back. "The money will only be out of my pocket for a few weeks and I'll get back the equivalent of, as you say, years' worth of investment." He looked pleased with himself again.

So McCoy's plan was to keep the ranchers under control by holding mortgages on their land. It made sense, although Scott couldn't see it being anything but miserable for the ranchers. But there was still one obvious question, the one that had bothered Scott right from the start.

"If McCoy wants to hold mortgages on the ranchers' land, why doesn't he just do the deal himself?" Scott asked Perry. "He could easily supply the ranchers with Longhorns from all those he's bringing in. He'd lose the profits from a few trainloads of cattle, but I get the impression he could carry that. Why does he need your capital and your friends' expertise?"

Perry shook his head. "The ranchers won't deal with him. It's this stupid pride, this stubbornness that I was telling you about. These Westerners won't admit they're wrong and need to change. They'd rather hang on and starve."

"So you act as middle men and get well paid for it."

"Exactly," said Perry, "and really, everyone benefits." He was obviously genuine and Scott could see that, yes, it might all work out – except that he kept thinking back to Harkness' grim determination and the possible 'unpleasantness'. Given that, it still seemed like the best plan to get Perry of here as quickly as possible and help him find a nice, safe investment for his money back in Boston.

"Look, Dennison, it seems to me that you don't really need to stay out here any longer," Scott began. "Foyle and the other local businessmen know you're a part of the consortium now. And your sister really is worried about you, you know – and about the effect your coming out here will have on your father. Worry isn't good for him, at his age." He thought surely that last part would have the desired effect and convince Perry to come back East with him. He would then have a quiet but firm – very firm – word with Foyle and get Perry's money transferred back to Boston.

But Perry was having none of it. "Nonsense," he declared, "my father will just have to learn to stop worrying. I'm a grown man and I'll go wherever I wish. I'm sure you didn't ask your grandfather's permission before coming out here, did you, Garrett?" He smiled loftily.

"As a matter of fact, I did," Scott told him. "At least, not his permission, but his agreement. And if he'd had any advice he wanted to give me, I would have listened to it."

Perry looked sulky. "Well, I'm staying here anyway. It's only for a few weeks. My father might worry a little, but when I come back safe and sound with a good profit in my pocket, he'll realise I can be trusted to take care of myself."

Scott relented a little. It was only natural for a fellow Perry's age to be wanting some independence. His own case had been different. When he had turned eighteen, there had been a war going on and he'd enlisted to do what to him was his clear duty to his country. He'd been able to prove all he needed to prove, simply by being a good soldier and officer.

"Where are you staying?" he asked Perry. "You're not registered here at the hotel."

"I'm staying at Mr Aycliffe's house," Perry replied. "Far more comfortable. I'll tell you one thing, Garrett, the living conditions out here in the West are appalling. You'll find that out if you stay here for any length of time."

"Undoubtedly," said Scott drily, "although this hotel is considerably more comfortable than the quarters I had when I was last here."

"Oh, of course," said Perry, "I forgot, you said you'd been stationed here with the army. I'm amazed you'd come back, knowing what it's like. Surely you didn't come all the way out here just to find me, though?"

"It was to ease your sister's mind, to be precise. She really was in distress when you disappeared like that." Scott was glaring at him sternly again.

"Ah, anything to oblige a lady, eh?" Perry said with what he thought was a knowing, man-to-man look.

This boy has a lot of growing up to do, thought Scott.

* * *

Clem Harkness was deep in thought as he rode back to his ranch after his visit to Reverend Thomas. This Scott Lancer was a new element. The Lancer ranch was well-known for its Longhorn cattle. No surprise that Murdoch Lancer might be having dealings with Joseph McCoy, especially with the Transcontinental Railroad due to be finished soon. If Scott Lancer had said he was in Abilene to discuss business with McCoy, Harkness wouldn't have thought twice about it. In fact, he would have been pleased that there was a prospect of McCoy's interest moving from Kansas to California.

But Lancer hadn't mentioned McCoy, just rattled off a load of stuff about looking for a boy from Boston. Harkness had noticed how vague Lancer had been about the details. He'd noticed, too, how the younger man had dodged Harkness' question about his relationship to Murdoch Lancer. Admitted there was a relationship, but then immediately swung into fishing for information about the Spanish fever and the effect it was having on the local cattle. Tried to talk like he knew nothing about cattle, too. He was covering something up, that was obvious. The story about looking for a friend was almost certainly a fabrication and Harkness wanted to know the real reason a Lancer was in Abilene. If McCoy was expanding to California to work with Murdoch Lancer, fine, he'd wish them both luck. But if the Lancers were expanding to Kansas and were going to join forces with McCoy, that could only mean more bad news for the Abilene ranchers.

The first thing to do, Harkness decided, was to find out exactly who this Scott Lancer was, and what his connection was with Murdoch Lancer. He'd wire his cousin in Sacramento tomorrow. Jacob had been living in California nearly ten years. He'd know, or could find out, whether Murdoch Lancer had any relations in Boston.

Clem Harkness smiled wryly. He was turning into a suspicious man of late. But that twelve months working as a warder in Huntsville Prison had ruined any belief he had in the goodness of human nature. And when he'd seen Tege Calton and another man deep in conversation with McCoy a couple of weeks before, his last scruples had faded.

Calton – who now, apparently, called himself Carling – had been a prisoner in Huntsville while Harkness was there. Charged with murder, he had avoided hanging through a technicality and a slick-talking lawyer. He had still been convicted of manslaughter and was serving a long term. Harkness wondered whether he had been released or had escaped, but it didn't really make much difference. The significant thing was that McCoy had brought a man like that into the picture.

Like an idealistic fool, as he told himself, Harkness had believed that McCoy and the ranchers could come to some compromise. He'd hoped, too, that something might come of that fellow Jardine's efforts in Topeka. Better to use the law than guns. But if McCoy was going to play rough, well, Harkness could match him. He had some contacts himself – ex-convicts who had come to respect the warder who had always treated them fairly and, in a strange sort of honor, had been willing to put him in touch with the sort of men it seemed he would now need. If McCoy was resorting to harsh measures, Harkness was not going to wait for him to fire the first shot. And if Murdoch Lancer's representative had to be included in the ranchers' show of defiance, then so be it.


	5. Chapter 5

Scott was out early the next morning. Talking to young Dennison was only going to make him dig his heels in more stubbornly, that was clear. Scott had spent some time the previous night thinking through his possible courses of action. He had briefly considered letting this cattle-and-mortgage deal go ahead while keeping a wary eye on the proceedings, but had decided against it. Harkness was clearly intending to take some sort of action. If the ranchers were going to start a legal battle, then Perry must be kept out of it. The worry and embarrassment could be devastating for old Mr Dennison. And if Harkness had something rougher than a legal writ in mind, then the sooner Perry was out of it all, the better.

The easiest way, he'd concluded, was simply to undermine Perry's financial involvement. That would actually be fairly simple to do since, although he did have access to the money he'd inherited, Perry was still under age. A hint to Samuel Foyle that Perry's money was not actually under his control and that Perry's father might take legal action if it was disposed of without his consent would probably be enough to make the nervous little banker decide against having anything more to do with the business. And since the only other bank in the town was owned by Joseph McCoy, who apparently didn't want the local ranchers to know he was involved in any way, that would be an end to the matter as far as Perry's money was concerned.

So now Scott was headed for Foyle's Fidelity and Mercantile Bank. He'd soon get Foyle nervous enough to bring things to a halt. Perry would no doubt get in an almighty huff but that mattered not in the slightest. Afterwards, he'd stop by Reverend Thomas' to let him know that Perry had been located.

There remained, however, the puzzle of why Aycliffe wanted Perry in Abilene. And that was the niggling worry. If Perry's money was his main attraction, then Scott would soon have him on his way home. But if there was some other, more sinister reason behind bringing the boy out West, then the battle might be far from won. Scott decided he would pump Foyle and see what, if anything, the banker knew. Most likely nothing, but he was the least risky place to start.

Scott would have been flattered by Foyle's effusive welcome if flattery had been what he was after. The banker ushered Scott into his private office, urged him to be seated, sent for coffee.

"Mr Lancer, so good to see you. I really can't tell you how delighted I was last night to see you in Ablilene once again. I do hope you're going to stay and become a part of our fine community. I assure you, we would feel most honoured to have a representative of the Lancer ranch amongst us. And really in these modern times, distance has become nothing. With the telegraph and the railroads, Kansas and California are practically next door to each other."

Scott could understand why Perry was so favourably impressed by Mr Foyle. The banker at least had a talent for appealing to man's self-importance.

"I was speaking with an acquaintance of mine from Boston last night, one Perry Dennison. I believe you have met him," Scott began.

"Mr Dennison? Yes, indeed, a fine young man. I didn't realise he was a friend of yours." Foyle's surprise was evident.

"Perry's father and my grandfather are business associates and old friends. Actually, I came to Abilene partly at the request of Perry's family. They are rather concerned at him being out here alone. After all, he is only eighteen. I'm glad that I'll be able to reassure Mr Dennison that his son's interests are in the hands of an honourable gentleman like yourself. Mr Dennison was, I don't hesitate to tell you, rather worried when he found out that Perry had brought a significant amount of money out here, although of course Perry can't legally enter into any business contract, as he's under age. Still, Mr Dennison had visions of having to take legal measures to retrieve Perry's inheritance if it was misspent in any way. He'll be relieved when I tell him that it's safe in your bank." That should do it, thought Scott.

The dismay on Foyle's face was exactly what he had expected, but almost comical nonetheless.

"Oh, dear, Mr Carling will…" he stopped.

Sounds like he knows something, thought Scott. A little fishing was in order, he decided.

"Young Perry was saying to me that you're the man to speak to about investment opportunities here in Kansas," Scott remarked. Use Foyle's own tactics, appeal to his self-importance. It worked.

"Yes, indeed, Mr Lancer." Foyle puffed up. "Quality investments. I can open the way for you to acquire a very profitable interest in several ventures. In particular, Mr Aycliffe, whom you met yesterday, is presently involved in what will be a very lucrative project and I happen to know that he is considering inviting some additional investors. Of course, he will be very selective in whom he invites, but with my recommendation, Mr Lancer, he would certainly consider you to be a trustworthy potential partner."

Scott had a momentary vision of his grandfather's reaction to the idea of someone like Foyle condescendingly 'recommending' a Garrett to a business associate. But then, he wasn't here as a Garrett. Good thing too, because he could also picture his grandfather's reaction to the Garrett name being connected, however remotely, with shady dealings in the cattle business.

But in practice the only business transaction he was interested in concluding was the purchase of two train tickets back to Boston. He hoped was well on the way towards doing that now but it still might be wise to find out anything Foyle could tell him.

"I understood from what Mr Aycliffe was saying yesterday that he is being employed by Mr McCoy to assist in some business negotiations," Scott said, in a tone he hoped would be just dampening enough to make the banker rush in with a correction.

"Oh, rather more than that, Mr Lancer," Foyle interjected, just as Scott had hoped. "Mr Aycliffe is too astute a businessman to give out information lightly but in fact he and his associate, Mr Carling, are arranging the acquisition of… " he stopped, then continued, "… are arranging a number of transactions which will be of significant benefit to Mr McCoy. The return on those transactions, as you would expect, will be commensurate with that benefit. However, a there is a certain amount of initial capital required. I think you would find it an ideal investment, especially as it would establish an association between your family and Mr McCoy which could well be mutually beneficial."

Scott was puzzled for a moment, wondering why an association between McCoy and the Garrett family would be mutually beneficial, then realized that Foyle meant the Lancer family. It occurred to him for the first time that being known by two names might prove confusing. It hadn't come up before, simply because his military and civilian lives had been almost totally unconnected. Now, however, it seemed the boundary was becoming a little blurred since Abilene was no longer a military outpost, but a cow town. And in a cow town, the name 'Lancer' meant 'cattleman'. It wouldn't be for long, though, he reminded himself. He'd be back in Boston as soon as he possibly could and cattle would once again only be significant when in the form of a medium-rare steak.

And right now, Foyle's assumption that he was connected with Murdoch Lancer looked like being very valuable indeed. Foyle was obviously viewing him as a potential replacement for Perry – in fact, better than Perry, since he brought the prospect of future financial dealings with the Lancer ranch. Scott would make the most of it. The more willing Foyle was to drop Perry, the better. So now he said, "It certainly seems my young friend was right, Mr Foyle. You are clearly the man to come to for the golden opportunities. Perhaps you would be good enough to let Mr Aycliffe know that I would be interested in hearing more about this venture." Scott smiled pleasantly at Foyle. The smiling was quite easy. Keeping from laughing at the mixture of delight and relief on the banker's face was the difficult part.

* * *

Scott left the bank thankfully and headed for Reverend Thomas' house. Perry had promised to meet him for lunch at the hotel and he intended to keep the boy in his company for the rest of the day. It was the obvious course, to keep Perry away from Aycliffe and, presumably, the other two, as much as possible. Hopefully Foyle would be rushing to Aycliffe with the bad news about Perry's money and with luck, young Dennison would find his bags waiting for him on Aycliffe's porch. He and Perry might be eating clam chowder back in Boston by the end of the week. Perhaps. All he could do for the moment was to wait and see.

The minister was at his desk when Scott was ushered in.

"I came by to let you know that I've found my friend Dennison," Scott told him.

Reverend Thomas looked genuinely pleased. "Well, that's very good news, Scott. I hated the thought of such a young man on his own. Where has he been?"

"He's staying at the house of a fellow he met in Boston, a Mr Aycliffe."

"He's staying with Aycliffe?" the Reverend's voice betrayed his concern.

"Yes. Do you know anything about the man?" Scott asked, "I met him briefly yesterday. He implied he was working with McCoy and talked about negotiating with the ranchers."

"I've met Mr Aycliffe, he's come to church several times," Reverend Thomas replied. "He rented a house just north of town a couple of months ago. He seems pleasant enough himself. What concerns me is that he has been seen in the company of another man whose character is rather dubious, a fellow who goes by the name of Carling. The man has served a prison term in Huntsville. I believe Carling and Aycliffe are engaged in some sort of business with Mr McCoy but it's a puzzle how your young friend could be associated with them."

"Perry has recently inherited a large sum of money," Scott told him. "And he's been persuaded to invest it in this business project of Aycliffe's. From what he's told me, it could be quite profitable but unfortunately, although it involves nothing illegal, it's not really open and above board. I'm certain it will create a lot of anger amongst the local ranchers. And after listening to your friend Mr Harkness last night, I can't help but think it might lead to some bad trouble." He hesitated for a moment, then went on.

"I'm going to ask you outright, Reverend: is there a possibility that Mr Harkness is planning any sort of … violent retaliation? I don't care myself, I have no interest in the dispute one way or another, but I want to know how urgent it is to get Perry out of it all."

"I fear he may be, Scott, or at least be capable of it," Reverend Thomas replied. "He's a good man and wouldn't resort to violence without reason, I'm sure, but he spent a while as a warder in Huntsville Prison. I think it hardened him and, although he's never said so, I think he may have made contacts outside the law while he was there. If he felt the need, it's possible he would be able to bring in, well…"

"Hired guns," Scott finished for him.

"I hate to think of it, Scott." The minister shook his head worriedly.

"Well, I'm fairly confident I can undermine the money side of it," Scott told him. "If this scheme of Aycliffe and Carling's depends on Perry's capital, then the whole thing will fizzle out. The only thing that worries me is why they wanted Perry to come out here. They could easily have got his money off him in Boston. They've spun him some rigmarole about adding the prestige of the Dennison name to the transaction, and Perry's fallen for it, but there's no real reason for him to be here, that I can see."

"So, there must be a reason you can't see," commented the minister shrewdly.

"Exactly," said Scott, "And I can't imagine that reason being anything but a very bad one."


	6. Chapter 6

Scott was not Samuel Foyle's only visitor that morning. While Scott was talking with Reverend Thomas, Aycliffe was himself headed for the Fidelity and Mercantile Bank. His encounter with Scott Lancer the previous evening had set him thinking.

It was a pity that Carling and Jardine were so set on this idea of getting a share of McCoy's company. Aycliffe preferred quick money and a quick departure. But Carling was the one with the contacts among the cattle experts, so Aycliffe was having to pretend to go along with the stupid scheme. Once Carling's experts had done their work and the ranchers had signed the mortgage contracts, he would quietly approach McCoy with another offer – a much reduced payment, but in cash. Cash that he needn't take the trouble to share with Carling and Jardine. A swift but unobtrusive departure was all that would be needed. The worry, though, was that McCoy might be wary, made suspicious by Aycliffe's apparent change of mind. And if McCoy then let anything slip to Carling, well, things could go very awry indeed. Because once Carling knew of it, then almost certainly Jardine would find out.

Jardine was a man who knew a great deal. It was Jardine who had known about McCoy's trouble with the ranchers and Jardine who had known of Carling and his connection with the cattle trade. It was also Jardine who had found an easy source of capital in that young fool Dennison. And Jardine knew enough about Aycliffe, and Aycliffe's past, to cause a great deal of trouble indeed. If Jardine got wind too soon of the other offer being made to McCoy, then Aycliffe might find it necessary to leave Abilene very quickly with no profit in his pockets at all.

But this Lancer fellow might present another option. From the way he'd let his interest in buying land slip out the previous evening, obviously thinking he was being very subtle and clever, Aycliffe was confident he could be lured into paying out for those mortgages. Just a matter of flattering him that he was being let into insider secrets and slipping a few hints that the mortgages could very soon be foreclosed because the ranchers wouldn't be able to keep up the payments. It would be true, the ranchers wouldn't be able to meet the payments, with all their own cattle dead and the promised Longhorns never arriving. Of course, the failure to deliver the Longhorns would mean that the mortgage contracts would be null and void but by the time that became evident, Aycliffe would be comfortably on the other side of the Canadian border.

And he could stick with his original plan for Dennison. Whether it ended up being Joseph McCoy or Scott Lancer who parted company with his money, it would be Perry Dennison who would stand trial for fraud while Aycliffe was taking a pleasant cruise along the St Lawrence river.

Foyle greeted Aycliffe nervously. "Mr Aycliffe, I'm very glad to see you, sir. I have just had a visit from Mr Lancer."

"Really? That's a pleasant coincidence. I came to ask you a little more about Mr Lancer. I believe it is possible that he and I may be able to do some business together, and as you have a longer acquaintance with him, I thought I might approach you first. After all, it is Foyle's Bank which we will rely on for any financial transactions." Aycliffe was aware of the value of buttering up Foyle. Actually, he found it rather amusing to watch the banker preening himself whenever he received a compliment.

"Indeed yes, Mr Aycliffe, and as it happens, Mr Lancer was here to ask my advice on possible investments here in Kansas. But I'm afraid I have to tell you that he also mentioned another matter… " Foyle paused.

"What matter," demanded Aycliffe sharply.

"It seems you may have made an error in regards to Mr Dennison. He is actually under age and his father is most concerned about the money he has brought with him. Of course, I was able to assure Mr Lancer that no money would be disbursed without the consent of the elder Mr Dennison… "

"Wait a minute," Aycliffe interrupted him. "Are you saying that Lancer is acquainted with Perry Dennison?"

"Why, yes, he is a friend of the Dennison family, apparently. He was quite relieved to find that young Mr Dennison had placed his money in my care. The elder Mr Dennison had been considering legal action, if necessary." There was a bead of sweat on Foyle's brow.

Aycliffe frowned. He had been intending to just do a little preliminary sounding now; he would wait until the ranchers had been pressured into signing the "mortgage" papers before actually approaching Lancer.

But this business of Dennison's father stepping in put a different shade on things. If there was a real risk of Perry's money not being available when it was needed – and apart from anything else, it looked like Foyle would be too scared now to release it – then he'd best get moving on a deal with Lancer as fast as possible.

These cattle experts Carling was bringing to Abilene weren't coming cheap. And their role – spreading the Spanish fever right through the local cattle herds – was crucial to the plan. If the cash to pay them wasn't there, the whole venture would collapse like a house of cards. He'd bluffed that silly idiot Dennison into believing he could talk the ranchers into agreeing to the deal they were being offered, but it was dead cattle, not fancy words, that would do the persuading. With their herds wiped out, the ranchers would have no real option but to accept what Aycliffe was offering them. But the money to pay Carling's associates was needed first and if it wasn't going to come from Dennison then it would have to come from Lancer.

"You said Mr Lancer seemed interested in doing business here in Abilene?" he asked Foyle. The banker's face brightened.

"Yes, indeed, most interested. In fact, when I mentioned that you might be looking for an additional investor, he asked me to let you know that he would like to hear more about the opportunity. I was thinking, you see," Foyle added apologetically, "…that in the event of Mr Dennison's money not being available after all, you would be looking for the necessary funds elsewhere." There was a hint of anxiety in his expression as he looked at Aycliffe. But the other man was nodding – it seemed this toady Foyle did have some sense after all.

"That was well thought of, Mr Foyle," Aycliffe said. The self-preening expression returned to the banker's face. "In fact, if Mr Lancer really is interested, I might go along and see him right away. It's always unwise to delay when it comes to business." He rose and went to the door. "I'll let you know if Mr Lancer and I decide to proceed. We'll rely on you, of course, to assist with the financial arrangements." Keep the fellow buttered up – he was an essential tool for the moment.

"You know that Foyle's Fidelity and Mercantile Bank is entirely at your service, Mr Aycliffe," Foyle assured him pompously.

What a privilege, thought Aycliffe, as he left the bank in search of Scott Lancer.

Aycliffe entered the hotel and went to the reception desk.

"Good morning," he greeted the clerk on duty. "I wonder if I might leave a note for Mr Lancer."

"Mr Lancer?" queried the clerk.

"Yes," replied Aycliffe, "He's staying here, I believe."

"Lancer," murmured the clerk, looking through the register, "I'm sorry, sir, we have no-one named Lancer registered. Unless perhaps he's arriving later today?"

"No, he has already arrived in Abilene. I must have made a mistake; he must be staying elsewhere. Sorry to have troubled you. Good day." Aycliffe nodded and turned away.

"No trouble at all, sir. Good day to you." The clerk smiled courteously.

Damn, thought Aycliffe as he left the hotel, now I'll have to waste time tracking the fellow down. Lancer must still have contacts in Abilene from his earlier stay and be at a private house. He shouldn't be hard to find, though; most of the town's population were recent arrivals – there'd been nothing much here until McCoy set up in business. He'd ask at the place that had once been the only saloon in Abilene. Old Man Jones would know all the people who'd been around while the cavalry was stationed here. He headed for the north side of town.

Carling walked beside Perry Dennison, heading for the hotel to meet this fellow Garrett. He wasn't happy at having to take a turn at baby-sitting but Aycliffe was right. If they didn't keep an eye on him, the kid was stupid enough to get into any sort of trouble. One poker game and Dennison's money could – no, knowing the poker players in Abilene, would – be gone.

And this Garrett was a worry. An acquaintance from Boston just happening to turn up in Abilene? No, something was up, and Carling supposed he had better find out what. They went into the hotel.

"Is Mr Garrett in?" Perry asked the clerk at the desk.

"Yes, sir, he's just returned," replied the clerk, but Scott had seen them and was crossing the lobby.

"Garrett, this is Mr Carling, one of the gentlemen I was telling you about last night," Perry eagerly introduced his companion. "I've invited him to join us for lunch. I want you to hear for yourself what he's planning to do for the ranchers."

Scott frowned to himself. It seemed Perry's new friends were keeping an eye on him. Not surprising; there was a good chunk of money involved here. Money, and something else? Well, he would see what a little chat over lunch might reveal.

Scott shook hands with Carling, assessing him as he did so. He was well-dressed and appeared respectable but Scott detected a caution in his manner that was just what one would expect in a man who was hiding something he didn't want known. His past was the obvious thing to be hiding but that might or might not be relevant. It was what he was hiding in the present that Scott wanted to find out.

He noticed Carling seemed to be assessing him the same way.

"I understand you're a cattleman, Mr Carling," Scott went straight into the subject when they had seated themselves at a table in the dining room and the lunch had been ordered. He had a feeling that subtle fishing was not the way to go with this fellow. He would ask direct questions and see what Carling had to say – or what story he came up with.

"Yes, I am. Mr Dennison has told you about our venture here in Abilene, he tells me. Are you familiar with the cattle trade yourself, Mr Garrett?" Carling asked.

"No. I'll have to admit to complete ignorance when it comes to cattle," Scott replied with a smile. It was nice to be able to be honest on that score, for once, he thought. "But Perry assures me you're very knowledgeable on the subject. You've undertaken to find good quality stock to supply to the ranchers, so he says."

"That's right, Mr Garrett," Carling nodded. "There's far more to it than just buying a lot of beeves. We want to get animals that will do well in local conditions. I've arranged with my associates in Texas for two experts to come to Abilene to assess the terrain – the types of grass available as feed, the quality of the water supply and so on. They'll make recommendations so we can get stock that will thrive here."

This was going to be simple after all, thought Carling. Spin this fellow the same tale he'd told Aycliffe. He was just as ignorant and would believe it just as readily. Of course, Aycliffe thought the gentlemen from Texas would be using their expertise for a different purpose but neither Aycliffe nor Garrett were likely to doubt Carling's claim of being a respected cattleman.

The fellow was managing to sound sincere, thought Scott, and what he said sounded plausible. He could understand Perry believing it all. And indeed, Perry was rushing in eagerly now:

"I told you there was nothing for my father to be concerned about, Garrett. Mr Carling's going to great lengths to make sure the ranchers get the best out of the deal. There'll be no shame in having the Dennison name attached to this."

"It certainly seems so," Scott agreed, then turned his attention to the food that the waiter was placing in front of him. He would say nothing for the moment, he decided; no need yet to reveal what he had heard about Carling's background. Besides, a man shouldn't really be judged by his past and there was, after all, just a chance that Carling was telling the truth.

Nonetheless, Scott couldn't help but wonder what sort of 'associates' a former inmate of Huntsville Prison was likely to have in Texas and what sort of men those associates might be sending to help Carling with his business in Abilene.


	7. Chapter 7

Clem Harkness came out of the telegraph office and headed up Cedar Street. He'd have an answer from his cousin by tomorrow, he hoped, and then he'd have an idea of how wary he needed to be of Scott Lancer. He decided to get a cup of coffee at the hotel before going back to his ranch.

As he entered the dining room of the Drovers' Cottage, his eye was caught by the sight of three men at a nearby table. One was Carling, one was a boy he didn't recognize – and the third was Lancer.

That settled it then. Harkness cursed to himself. He'd been hoping that Lancer was in Abilene to do some legitimate business with McCoy and his caginess was just exaggerated business caution. But if Lancer was in league with Carling, then there was no point in being squeamish. The name Scott Lancer would be added to the list he would give to the men his Huntsville contacts were sending up from the south.

The three men didn't seem to have noticed him. He sat down at a table on the far side of the room. Probably not much he could find out just from watching them, true, but maybe he could get some idea of just how friendly Lancer and Carling were. He wondered who the boy was, then recalled Lancer's story about coming to Abilene to look for some young fellow – Dennison, hadn't that been the name? Had there been some truth in the story, then, or was it a cover for his association with Carling?

The three certainly seemed to be on friendly terms. Carling was talking earnestly to Lancer, with the boy butting in with what looked like stupid eagerness every now and then. Lancer seemed to be interested in whatever Carling was saying; he nodded from time to time.

Harkness drank his coffee slowly, then dropped his payment on the table and rose to leave. As he stood, Carling looked his way and saw him but made no acknowledgment, immediately turning his attention back to Lancer. That was no surprise; he and Carling had seen each other several times since Carling had arrived in Abilene, but neither had spoken. They had nothing to talk to each other about. Lancer had his back to Harkness and apparently hadn't noticed him at all.

The rancher headed for the door of the dining room, passing close enough to the other table to be within earshot of the conversation for a moment. Carling was talking to Lancer.

"So you need have no worries, Mr Garrett, our venture here in Abilene is set to be very profitable indeed."

Harkness was startled. Garrett? Here was another twist. Was Lancer using an assumed name to deal with Carling? Or was Lancer the assumed name? Reverend Thomas had called the man Lancer and one thing Harkness was sure of, the Reverend would not be a party to anything dishonest. Then he recalled that Reverend Thomas had said he met Lancer while the cavalry was stationed in Abilene. That could be the explanation. This fellow would certainly not be the first man to enlist in the army under a false name to get away from trouble of some sort.

Harkness decided to call in on Reverend Thomas on his way home and warn him about Lancer/Garrett. He didn't like to think of the minister being deceived in any way and above all, didn't want him dragged into the shady dealings of Carling and his associates – who, it now seemed, included Scott Lancer.

* * *

Aycliffe had had an interesting conversation with Old Man Jones. It had cost him a few glasses of rotgut rye – one for himself and three for Jones – but he had got some information that could well be of use for both finding and manipulating Lancer.

Old Man Jones remembered Lancer; remembered him very favourably, too.

"There weren't much law and order here in them days – not that there's much now, mind you – but the cavalry officers kept things from gettin' too bad, wherever they could," he said. "Cap'n Lancer, yes, he'd come along here on his nights off an' keep an eye on his men. Oh, he'd have a few drinks, don't get me wrong, he'd enjoy himself right enough, but he'd always stay sober enough to bust up any trouble." Jones poured himself another shot of whiskey. "The soldiers, now, they'd get well liquored up. Can't blame 'em, there weren't nothin' for them to do in their off duty time 'cept drinkin' and fightin' and whorin'. And there weren't enough whores to go around back then, that's how come a lot o' the fightin'. I was always glad when Cap'n Lancer was in, he'd deal with 'em if they got too bad. Didn't come the high-handed officer, mind, he had more sense than that. No, he'd just bang their heads together and haul 'em back to the barracks if they were fit to get there, or dump 'em on a pile o' hay in the stable to sleep it off if they weren't. The men didn't mind that; matter o' fact I reckon most of 'em were pleased he'd kept 'em out o' trouble, once they sobered up."

"So who do you think Lancer might have looked up when he came back to Abilene?" Aycliffe asked.

"Hard to say," Old Man Jones scratched his chin. "He got along well with most o' the respectable people here but by and large the soldiers didn't mix much with the townsfolk. The Walkers, maybe; ol' Jack used to be nicknamed "Sheriff Walker" 'cause he tried to keep some order around the town, like Lancer did. Or Reverend Thomas. He had more to do with the military than most of us; he kinda acted as chaplain for the soldiers, so he used to go out to the post fairly regular. I'd say he'd be your best bet. Almost for sure, Cap'n Lancer'd look him up, even if he wasn't stayin' with him."

"Thank you, Mr Jones, that does sound like a good place to start," said Aycliffe. "I'll call on Reverend Thomas and see if he knows anything of Mr Lancer."

"Mister Lancer, hmm, yeh, you said he's not in the army any more," the salon keeper commented. "That don't surprise me. The Cap'n was a real keen soldier but kinda fussy. I heard he didn't like the way the cavalry was supposed to deal with the Indians." Old Man Jones shook his head. "Real pity. Still, maybe he'll be back here permanent as a cattleman, if he's got somethin' to do with that Lancer ranch in California. Strange," he added, "I thought he came from Boston. I don't recall him mentioning any cattle ranch. But then, Abilene didn't have much to do with cattle back then. Probably just never came up."

Aycliffe left Old Man Jones to his enjoyment of the terrible whiskey and headed in the direction of the church and Reverend Thomas.

* * *

Scott walked along Texas Street in the relative cool of the early evening. He'd spent a strained afternoon in the company of Perry and Carling. He'd done his best to get Perry away from the convict turned cattleman, if cattleman he really was, but Carling seemed determined to keep Perry in his sight.

It had almost amused Scott to watch Carling encouraging Perry in the 'Dennison prestige' tale they'd convinced him was the reason they wanted him here, but at the same time it had made him more uneasily aware that he was no closer to knowing the real reason why Carling and Aycliffe had dragged a Boston boy out to Abilene.

Another thing making Scott uneasy was the fact that Harkness had seen him in company with Carling at the hotel. He'd seen Harkness enter the dining room and take a seat where he could watch them but had thought it wiser to give no sign that he knew Harkness, since Carling must be aware that Harkness knew all about him. It was Harkness who had told Reverend Thomas of Carling's background, apparently, and given that knowledge, Scott conceded that Harkness perhaps had reason for anticipating trouble and being prepared to respond in kind. All in all, he couldn't blame the man, but he wondered what Harkness was going to make of what must have appeared, at the very least, like a social engagement between himself and Carling. Hopefully he had noticed Perry's presence and recalled Scott's story about looking for a young friend, and come to something like the right conclusion. Otherwise, Scott realized, there was a risk he might find himself on the wrong side of Harkness' 'unpleasantness'.

Now he was on his way to Reverend Thomas' house – worryingly, alone. The Reverend had invited him to supper, urging him to bring Perry along as well. But Perry was dining with Carling and Jardine. He insisted he must keep the engagement. He didn't want to disappoint Mr Jardine, he declared, the smugly pleased tone in his voice again. By the sound of it, Jardine had played on Perry's bottomless vanity once again, implying that Perry was conferring an honour by giving him the privilege of dining with a Dennison etc etc. Scott would have liked the chance to assess Jardine, the third member of the triumvirate, but Carling had made no suggestion that Scott should join them and Scott had decided not to try to push his way in. On the principle that an unsuspecting man was more likely to give himself away, he had played along with Carling, acting, he hoped, as if he had been convinced by the assurances of honest intentions that Carling had pelted him with all through lunch. He thought it had worked; Carling didn't seem to be regarding him with any sort of suspicion and hopefully was dismissing him as harmless.

"Well, Scott, what sort of pickle have you been getting yourself into?" was the minister's half amused, half worried query to Scott, when greetings had been exchanged and they were seated at the table.

"Why do you think I might be in a pickle, Reverend?" was Scott's startled response. A pickle was exactly what he was trying to stay out of. What had Reverend Thomas heard that might mean he was not succeeding?

"I've had two visitors asking about you today," the Reverend told him. "Mr Aycliffe called in just after lunch. He was trying to find you; said he wanted to discuss a possible business transaction. I suggested he leave a note for you at the hotel, but he said he had been to the hotel earlier and you weren't staying there. I promised I'd let you know he wanted to see you, but quite frankly, if I were you I'd look very carefully into any business proposition Aycliffe was offering, given the company he keeps."

"Don't worry, Reverend," Scott assured him. "Aycliffe and his friends are the last people on earth I would consider doing business with. My only business with them is getting young Perry Dennison as far away from them as I can."

"I'm relieved to hear it," Reverend Thomas replied. "By the way, where are you staying, if you're not at the hotel? Not in one of the boarding houses, surely?"

"Heavens, no, from what I've seen, they'd be worse than the army barracks! No, I'm at the Drovers' Cottage. I don't know why Aycliffe thought I wasn't staying there; very odd. But tell me, who was your other visitor asking about me?"

"Clem Harkness. Actually, he came to warn me about you. Said there was some mystery about you; that you were using an assumed name. And that he'd seen you having a tête-à-tête with Carling, that ex-prisoner he'd known in Huntsville. He was genuinely concerned; said he didn't like to think of me being linked with any sort of shady dealings through my friendship with you. He is a good man, Scott, in spite of being willing to fight fire with fire, if he feels he needs to. He did say, though, that there was someone else with you and Carling, a young man. I'm guessing that would be your friend Dennison?"

"Yes, it was. Carling was sticking to him like a leech all day and hauled him off to dinner with Jardine tonight – that's why he's not here, and my apologies, by the way. I really want to get Perry out of all this without too much fuss, for old Mr Dennison's sake, so I'm just playing along at the moment. Hopefully, the word I had with Samuel Foyle this morning has put a spoke in the wheel; they'll soon lose interest in Perry when they realize they can't get at his money." If it's just his money they're after, Scott added to himself.

"Let's hope so," said Reverend Thomas. "But what's this mystery about you having another name? 'Garrett', Clem said he heard Carling call you."

"Oh, it's no mystery," replied Scott. "My name is Lancer and of course that's the name I enlisted under when I joined the army. But I was raised by my maternal grandfather, Harlan Garrett, and in Boston I've always been known by his name. Just convenience, really." Convenience, and his grandfather's almost vehement insistence.

"And how are you connected with this Murdoch Lancer? He's some relation of yours, you said yesterday evening," the Reverend queried.

"Yes, he's my father, but I've never actually met him," Scott explained. Reverend Thomas was someone he had no qualms about telling the story to.

"Never met him! How did that come about?" Reverend Thomas was concerned. The thought of a son not knowing his father was, to him, a tragic one. He was sorry to think of Scott Lancer being in such a case.

"You see, my mother died when I was born, and her father took me back to his home in Boston," Scott explained. "Murdoch Lancer has a ranch in California, as you've heard. He never came to Boston to see me, never indicated to my grandfather that he wanted me. I've never had a letter from him and never laid eyes on him." Scott kept his voice matter-of-fact but his own words were bringing back to him the feelings of the young boy who had been rejected by his father.

"Have you ever tried to make contact with him?" asked the Reverend.

"Yes, I wrote to him twice. Once when I first heard that he existed – that was when I was twelve years old. Then about three years later, when my grandfather was abroad and I was in boarding school, I wrote again. All the other boys were always talking about their fathers and I was jealous, you see. But he never answered either letter." The shadow that passed over Scott's face was only momentary, and quickly controlled, but the minister saw it nonetheless.

"Perhaps you should try again, Scott," he suggested.

"Why?" queried Scott.

"Because he's your father," Reverend Thomas said simply.

Scott smiled wryly. Remembering the lecture he'd given Perry on a son's duty, he couldn't really dispute the Reverend's assertion. And in truth, he agreed. It was reason enough. But he shook his head.

"I doubt there'd be any point."

"Well, if you don't think you'd get any response to a letter, perhaps you could simply go to California. Pay him a visit, meet him face to face," the minister suggested.

"Oh, I don't think so. I don't like the idea of barging in where I'm not welcome." Scott's voice was a little rueful but his tone was one of quiet decision. And acceptance.

Reverend Thomas sighed and shook his head in turn. He decided to say nothing more, however; he was wise enough to know when to stop giving advice, before it turned into a lecture. But he was sad for Scott, that he'd never known the man who should have been the most important person in his life. And he was sad for this Murdoch Lancer, too. The man didn't realise what he'd thrown away. Scott Lancer was a son any father would be proud of.


	8. Chapter 8

"Good morning, Mr Garrett." The manager of the hotel greeted Scott as he came downstairs the next morning.

"Good morning, Mr Gore," Scott smiled as he returned the greeting but suddenly, with the manager's words, he realized why Aycliffe had thought he wasn't staying at the Drovers' Cottage. If he'd asked at the desk for Scott Lancer, of course the hotel register would hold no such name. He laughed to himself. He'd end up like that Confederate officer he had captured during the war, a Major Allen. Except that he hadn't been a Confederate officer, he'd turned out to be a Union spy, working under an assumed name. Fascinating fellow. Scott never did find out his real name. "Better that you don't know," the 'Major' had said. Scott had wondered, and asked, whether he got confused about who and what he was supposed to be. 'Major Allen' had grinned. "It's just a matter of remembering which color uniform I'm wearing," he had replied.

Well, Scott wasn't wearing a uniform of any color – he'd just have to keep his wits about him and remember who knew him by what name. Not that it really mattered; he had nothing to hide. He wasn't a spy using an alias. Although, he thought, laughing again, with the practice he was getting lately, he could probably get a job with Pinkerton's once he'd got this affair dealt with.

And dealing with it was exactly what he intended to get on with doing, he mentally added as he sat down to his breakfast – a generous piece of beefsteak. Yesterday's breakfast had been beefsteak, too. In fact, every meal he had had since arriving in Abilene had been beef in one form or another. Only to be expected, he supposed, and certainly the beef Wellington that Clara had cooked for Reverend Thomas and himself last night had been superb. Still, he hoped he never had to live in cattle country for any length of time. The tedium of the menu would outrage his tastebuds, not to mention his digestion.

* * *

Clem Harkness carefully read through the wire from his cousin: "Murdoch Lancer Scottish immigrant with no relatives in America. Married to Mexican woman. One son. Wife ran off eighteen years ago taking son with her. Great scandal at the time. Boy never heard of since."

It confirmed what he'd suspected. Harkness smiled grimly. He vaguely recalled the scandal about Murdoch Lancer's wife, now that he was reminded of it. One thing was certain, this Scott 'Lancer' was not Murdoch Lancer's son. Blonde haired, blue-eyed; no, certainly not a half-Mexican! It was still possible that his name was Lancer, of course, but the fact that he had claimed to be a relative of Murdoch Lancer cast doubt on it. Sounded like he was trying to give credibility to a name being falsely used.

Remained the question, though, of what Lancer – Garrett – was doing in Abilene. That he was involved, or planning to get involved, with whatever work Carling was doing for McCoy, was almost certain. Reverend Thomas had tried to convince him that there was an honest explanation for Garrett meeting Carling. He had pointed out that the boy with them was probably Perry Dennison, the young fellow that Lancer/Garrett claimed he had come to Abilene to find, and suggested that Garrett was simply trying to keep the boy out of trouble. But the Reverend would always think the best of everyone, until the worst was proven. In truth, Harkness admired and liked him for that, but he knew all too well that by the time the worst was proven, it was often too late. No, best to have Scott Garrett dealt with along with Aycliffe and Carling. The men who would do that would arrive in Abilene that evening.

* * *

Aycliffe paced around the garden of his rented house. Perry was still in bed; the fool of a boy never got up before eleven. Aycliffe was wondering about this Garrett that Perry had been talking about last night, a friend of his from Boston, apparently. Carling had assured him that the fellow was nothing to worry about, Jardine likewise, but combined with the fact that Lancer also apparently knew Perry, and Perry's family were making noise in Boston, Aycliffe found the news worrying. He hadn't mentioned Foyle's revelation about Perry's money to Jardine and Carling. He wanted everything to go ahead as planned and Carling's men were due to arrive that evening. And he would try to keep Perry in Abilene; he might still be useful. But it was Lancer he wanted to concentrate on now. Get some cash off him and into the bank right away, to be sure of being able to pay the southern cattlemen, and start working on him for the big money.

But where the devil was the fellow? Not at the Drovers' Cottage, or the Walkers' or Reverend Thomas' and he certainly didn't appear to be the type who would stay in one of the boarding houses. Strange, too, that he hadn't looked Dennison up, if he was a friend of the family. Perry certainly hadn't mentioned meeting him and the boy never kept his mouth shut about anything.

That didn't really matter, though. The main thing was to get to see Lancer somehow. Perhaps he should visit Foyle again and… he looked up as the gate clicked open. Scott Lancer was walking up the path.

Scott had asked Reverend Thomas the previous evening for directions to Aycliffe's house. He was determined to get Perry alone and do some serious persuading. If it meant dropping a hint about potential danger to frighten the boy, well, he would do it. He hoped that perhaps his discussion with Foyle had done the trick and Aycliffe would have informed Perry that he was no longer wanted in Abilene but he doubted it. Carling and Jardine, as well as Aycliffe, were going to too much trouble to keep Perry here, not to mention keeping an eye on him. His presence, as well as his money, was clearly wanted but Scott was still baffled as to why.

Now Aycliffe was advancing towards him with a delighted – almost relieved? – expression on his face.

"Mr Lancer, good morning. How good of you to drop by."

"Good morning to you, Mr Aycliffe. Actually, I was hoping to see my friend, Perry Dennison. I understand that he's staying with you. Ah, but perhaps it's a little early for him." Scott smiled and Aycliffe laughed.

"You're exactly right, Mr Lancer. Our young mutual friend won't make an appearance for some time yet. But do come in and have some coffee. I'm delighted to have a chance to talk to you."

Scott accepted the offer graciously. Aycliffe was about to discuss his 'business proposition', he guessed. This should give him an idea of whether Aycliffe had given up on Perry's money or not.

"Reverend Thomas mentioned that you would like to discuss a business opportunity," Scott headed straight in.

"Yes, indeed, Mr Lancer," Aycliffe also went straight to the point, very eagerly, Scott noted. "You may have gathered that I and my associates are here in Abilene to assist Mr McCoy with the expansion and consolidation of his cattle shipping business. To our great pleasure, we are finding that our endeavours have been very successful; far more successful than we had ever hoped, in fact. As a result of that, greater opportunities have presented themselves. We may be able to open the way to acquiring a great deal more land than is needed by Mr McCoy. To do so will require an additional input of initial capital, of course, but the supplier of that capital would not only receive an excellent return but would be in a very favourable position for taking advantage of the availability of further land. To call a spade a spade, Mr Lancer, if you were to supply some or all of that additional capital, I am in a position to assure you that you would be able to very easily obtain the land that you mentioned the Lancer ranch is eager to acquire around Abilene."

Call a spade a spade? thought Scott, his ears rattling from the barrage of words. He would have expected Aycliffe to call it a muscularly activated excavation implement.

But the fellow was revealing his weakness: jumping to the conclusions he wanted, with virtually no evidence – and acting on them. Well, it made Scott's job that much easier. He could string Aycliffe along without having to perjure himself. String him along, and get his attention away from Perry.

"It would be a very foolish businessman who failed to take advantage of an opportunity like that," he responded. Aycliffe almost pounced on him.

"What I recommend, Mr Lancer, is …" he was interrupted by the entrance of Perry Dennison.

"Why, hello, Dennison," Scott greeted him. "Up and about early, hey?"

"Yes, I think it must the Western air," Perry replied brightly, it apparently not occurring to him that there had been any irony in Scott's question. He looked from Scott to Aycliffe. "Oh, let me introduce you…" he began.

"Mr Aycliffe and I have met," Scott interrupted him, before the boy could start introducing him as Scott Garrett. He thought it best not to cast doubts just yet on Aycliffe's view of him as Scott Lancer, potential investor. He decided to hustle Perry out before the conversation got going. "Actually, Dennison, I came to fetch you. There are some people I want you to meet, old friends of mine here." He stood up.

Perry looked startled. "It's a little early to be going out, isn't it?" he demurred.

"Not at all," replied Scott, taking hold of the boy's arm and walking him briskly to the door. "We ought to make the most of this fresh Western air. I'll speak with you again soon, I very much hope," he threw a comforting sop to Aycliffe who was looking a little stunned, not sure whether to see them out or hold them back. He picked up Perry's hat and his own and, with a final nod to Aycliffe, got the boy outside. And heaved an inward sigh of relief. He was starting to envy Major Allen his different colored uniforms.

"So, who are these people you so urgently want me to meet?" asked Perry a little huffily as they headed towards the town.

"The minister, and perhaps one of the local ranchers. Have you actually met any of the ranchers, Dennison?" Scott asked, fairly sure of what the answer would be.

"No, I haven't. Mr Aycliffe is handling all the dealings with the ranchers. I know better than to interfere in another man's job. And besides, some of these Westerners have absurd prejudices against anyone from the East. Why do you think I should meet one of them? There seems no necessity for it to me," Perry declared.

"I've heard that some of the ranchers are very distrustful of these business associates of yours," Scott told him. "Mr Aycliffe may find it harder to get them to agree to this deal he's offering them than he thinks. This may not be as good an investment as it looks, Perry."

"Nonsense," Perry scoffed. "There may be one or two pig-headed ones, I suppose, but there's no reason for any of them not to trust us."

Scott debated with himself whether to reply, "Yes there is; one of your new friends is a convicted murderer," but decided against it, for the moment at least. It might sway Perry into showing some caution, but the boy was just as likely to refuse to believe it, and go marching off to Carling with the tale. And if Carling thought Perry had found out about his background, well, Scott didn't like to think of the possible consequences. No, he would save that revelation to be used as a last resort.

"Scott!" The shout came from the other side of the street.

"Jack!" Scott called back and advanced to meet the man striding towards them. The two men shook hands, Scott smiling broadly, the other man more broadly still.

"Scott, it's good to see you," the other man said. "I've been away for a few days, only heard last night that you were back in Abilene. How are you?"

"Fine, Jack, and you? And the family?" Scott asked him.

"All well, thanks. Got a couple more grandkids since I seen you last."

"Congratulations. Sarah's well pleased about that, I'm sure." Scott turned to Perry. "Jack, this is a friend of mine from Boston, Perry Dennison. Perry, this is Jack Walker. I was lucky enough to become friends with him and his wife when I was last here." Perry extended his hand.

"How do you do, Mr Walker," he said.

"Pleased to meet you," Jack Walker responded. He turned to Scott again and his expression became serious. "I'm real glad to see you back, Scott, more ways than one. Come on, let's get a drink and catch up."

"Sure, Jack," Scott agreed. "Where's the best place to drink these days? There seems to be quite a choice, now," he grinned.

Jack grinned back. "Yes, Old Man Jones has competition, nowadays. But I know a place where we won't get thrown out for having clean clothes." He led the way to a building that still smelled of new lumber. There was no sign on the front but he led the way in through a side door. Inside, the decorating seemed to be only half finished. Two men were in the process of hanging a chandelier. But the bar was open and a few men were sitting at the new-looking tables.

"The place hasn't properly opened yet," he explained, "they only serve the townsfolk at the moment, no cowboys until the doors officially open. It's going to be real nice when it's finished. The owner is planning to call it The Alamo – appeal to all the Texans coming in."

"Good idea," commented Scott. They sat at a table and the barman brought glasses and a bottle of whiskey. Perry had looked a little nervous when they came in but he relaxed as he looked around. Unlike most of the saloons in Abilene, where 'high class' meant the spittoons were emptied once a week, this place was clean and, for the time being at least, relatively respectable.

"Now, Jack," said Scott, "tell me why you're so glad to see me in Abilene – aside from my personal charms."

Jack laughed. "I am glad to see you for your own sake, Scott, and so will Sarah be. But I'm also pleased to have someone else around who isn't afraid to help keep some law and order. I'm afraid there's trouble brewing – serious trouble, not just cowboy fights."

"What makes you think that, Jack?" Scott asked. Of course he knew of a few things that could have 'Sheriff' Jack Walker worried but here was a chance for Perry to hear about them – hear from a third party and, hopefully, believe what he was told.

"There's a fellow come to town a few weeks ago," Walker began, "name of Tege Calton. Calls himself by a slightly different name, though – Carling. He's murdered at least one man, served some time in Huntsville Prison. Don't know how he wriggled out of getting hanged. Says he's here to do some business with Joseph McCoy – you know of McCoy, Scott?" he asked. Scott nodded. Jack continued: "I don't think for a moment that McCoy would have anything to do with a man like that. He's too careful of his reputation. He's put a lot into building up that cattle shipping business of his and he's not going to risk it by dealing with the wrong sort of man. But then the question is, what is this Calton or Carling doing in Abilene? Whatever it is, it probably isn't legal and it almost certainly isn't going to be good. And if one man like that has come to the town, there might be more. I don't like it, Scott, I don't like it at all."

Perry was listening wide-eyed. "But you don't actually know that this man Carling is here for any illegal purpose, do you? I mean, he may have served a prison term but you can't hold a man's past against him."

Walker nodded. "That's very true, son. But it pays to be wary and to keep your eyes open. Better to spot trouble when it's on its way than to be surprised when it gets to you."

"But surely if the man was dangerous the law would deal with him – the sheriff or the marshal?" Perry asked.

"No lawmen around here, son," Walker told him. "McCoy, he's talking about hiring a marshal, and a good thing it'll be for the town when he does, too. But the only time there was anything like a regular lawman in Abilene was back in the stage-coach days. Feller named Joe Barker used to come along every week or two. He sorta made the rounds of the frontier towns hereabouts, you understand. Come to think of it," he turned to Scott, "he had a deputy for a while, name of Murdoch Lancer. He any relation of yours?"

Scott was starting to wonder what it would be like to talk to someone in Abilene who had never heard of Murdoch Lancer. And his father had been a lawman? Or perhaps it had not been the same Murdoch Lancer.

"I don't know," he answered Jack truthfully.

Had his father been in Abilene? Had his father been a deputy?

He didn't know.

* * *

"How long do you think it will take?" Jardine asked Carling.

"A few weeks, a month at most. Once the Shorthorns go onto pasture where the Longhorns have grazed, they drop like flies," Carling answered confidently.

"Unless the ranchers keep them off the pasture," said Jardine.

Carling shook his head. "No, these ranchers are all convinced that the Spanish fever is spread by the ticks jumping from one animal to another. They think that once the Longhorns have moved on, their cattle are safe. But it's grazing the same land that spreads the fever, every good cattleman knows that."

And Carling knew he was sounding like a good cattleman. That day-long trip stuck in the same stagecoach as Shanghai Pierce had been a blessing in disguise. He'd been bored stiff as the man rambled on and on about cattle and ranching, but he'd listened carefully. He'd learned in the past that you never knew when strange knowledge might prove useful. Now that was paying off.

"And your men are arriving tonight?" Jardine queried.

"Yes, and they'll get to work tomorrow. We won't waste any time," Carling assured him.

"Good," Jardine nodded. Things seemed to be going well. There would soon be a lot of very angry ranchers around Abilene. And angry, ruined ranchers were exactly what he needed.

* * *

Carling was riding along the south road out of Abilene. He was going to meet the two men whose services Dennison's money would be paying for.

Harkness was going to regret not taking that bribe. The other warders had been prepared to be busy elsewhere when the escape attempt was made, but not that holier-than-thou Harkness. If it weren't for him, Carling would have been free long ago – not only free, but in possession of a large some of money from the very neat deal that had been waiting for him. But Harkness had stopped the escape, killing, in the process, the associates who would have made Carling a rich man.

Now Harkness was going to pay for that. Carling would make sure that the warder-turned-rancher lost everything. He'd know the poverty that Carling had known. He'd be dragged in the dust and Carling would see it. The final bullet would be the icing on the cake.

Carling had another task in mind for the men as well. This fellow Garrett was going to prove useful. Carling wanted to ensure that Perry Dennison stayed in Abilene for as long as he was needed but it might take some strong measures to do that. Dennison had swallowed that fool nonsense Aycliffe had come up with about the prestige of his family name and for the moment was delighted to be here, lapping up the flattery. But that might not last.

The boy was too easily swayed, for one thing, and although Garrett seemed convinced that the arrangement young Dennison was investing in was legitimate, there was always the risk of him planting some doubt in Perry's mind. And Carling had a feeling that if Dennison got the slightest hint of the real methods of these two 'experts', he would be running back to Boston in sheer terror. Best to make sure, rather, that he stayed in Abilene out of sheer terror. Even apart from his money, the boy had an important role to play.

Carling had no intention of risking another term in prison, or worse. He had it nicely arranged so that officially he was just an honest employee. If any questions were asked about how a rancher came to be murdered, it would be Perry Dennison who had hired the pistoleros, and Perry Dennison who would hang.

Boston was a long way off and it would be some time before any of Garrett's friends realized he had disappeared. Time enough for the essential business to be concluded. Carling was confident that the sight of his Boston friend's body would be enough to frighten Dennison into compliance.

The first job he would give the two men he was about to meet would be putting a bullet through this Scott Garrett.

* * *

"Johnny, this has to be the best job ever. Gettin' paid twice, by both sides!" Isham laughed. Johnny grinned back at his friend, but shook his head.

"Come on, Isham, we're not gonna get paid twice. Once we get up to Abilene, we'll have to decide which offer to take and which side to fight on."

"Why?" said Isham. "Don't see why we can't take the money from both sides, if they want to give it to us. Doesn't really matter which side we end up firin' our guns for. The argument's no business of ours."

Johnny said nothing; they could work it out later. But he thought how differently he and Isham looked at a lot of things. It probably was stupid, he admitted to himself, a hired killer having scruples about which side of an argument he hired himself out to, but he wanted to hear both Harkness and Dennison say their piece, then he'd decide whose money he'd take – and who he'd kill.


	9. Chapter 9

"I suppose you'd heard that talk about Mr Carling, had you? That's why you were fussing?" Perry asked Scott. They were in the lounge of the Drovers' Cottage, coffee cups in front of them.

They'd ended up spending a couple of hours with Jack Walker in the soon-to-be Alamo Saloon, Perry looking thoughtful while Jack and Scott talked about the past and caught up with the present. A pretty waitress brought them something to eat at noon – cold beef with some pickles and fresh bread. She smiled at Scott, very friendly, and even more at Perry, very, very friendly. Scott couldn't help being amused, despite having a plate of beef in front of him, as he watched the younger man. Perry, he guessed, was not used to seeing a woman in a dress with sleeves that short during the day, or a skirt that short at any time. Not used to that sort of friendliness, either.

"Tillie's safe to spend some time with," Jack told them, "she won't take any more than she charges you. Some of the girls, they'll buy the man an extra powerful drink and when he wakes up his watch and his pocket-book and anything else they can find is gone." He chuckled. "One cowboy, he woke up and found the girl had taken everything – I mean everything! He was scurrying down the street to Moon's store in his unmentionables. Luckily the drover he'd come up the trail with was in the store and lent him a dollar to buy a pair of pants. I had a word with the saloon owner," he added, "told him his girls were going a little too far, and there hasn't been anything that bad since. You still got to be careful, though," he advised them.

Perry had a rather stunned expression on his face at the directness of the talk and the easy way Jack was doing such talking. Scott just managed to suppress a grin. He hadn't made any promises about protecting Perry's morals.

Finally they rose to leave, Jack urging Scott and Perry to come to supper at his home that evening. Scott swiftly accepted for both of them. He wanted to see Sarah, Jack's wife, again plus he wanted to keep Perry in his company and out of Aycliffe and Carling's. He assured Jack they would be there and they left the saloon, Scott slipping Tillie a silver dollar as they passed.

He'd dragged Perry out for a walk along the river to work off the effects of the whiskey a little – they'd managed to get through a surprising amount in the course of the conversation with Jack. Perry had objected; taking long walks in the outdoors was not how he was used to spending his time and besides, it would ruin his shoes. Scott had to concede the last point. Although both he and Perry were dressed in Boston elegance that made them stand out like two sore thumbs, Scott had had the foresight to pack his cavalry boots as more suitable for Western lack of pavements but Perry's ludicrously expensive footwear would have no chance in a competition with the ground surface along Mud Creek. Scott wasn't about to yield on a technicality like that, however, and a brief stop in Moon's Frontier Store had equipped Perry with the most practical pair of boots he'd worn in his life, to the horror of his fashion-sensitive soul. Scott had Perry's shoes sent back to the hotel, as a form of minor hostage.

Now they were seated in the hotel lounge, Scott relaxing after the walk and Perry decidedly bad-tempered from too much fresh air and exercise.

"Yes, I'd heard about Carling," Scott acknowledged.

"Well, it's true what I said to your friend. It's wrong to condemn a man because of his past. And Mr Walker was wrong about one thing: Mr McCoy is happy to deal with Mr Carling, so he can't believe there's any risk to his money or his reputation." There was a touch of triumph in Perry's voice.

"True on both accounts," Scott conceded, "but that's not the point. If I've heard about Carling's past, and Jack has heard, you can be sure the local ranchers will have heard as well. And rightly or wrongly, it's bound to make a lot of them wary about dealing with him. If only a few of the ranchers take up this offer your friends are preparing, Mr McCoy could well decide that it's not worthwhile buying up those mortgages. Have you given any thought as to just why McCoy wants mortgages on the ranchers' land, Dennison?"

"Well, because they'll be a good investment, I suppose," Perry frowned.

"There are a dozen, or a hundred, good investments available to a man like McCoy," Scott declared. "He surely doesn't need to go through devious maneuverings, getting someone else to do deals for him, just to get a good return on some spare money. I've heard other things, Dennison," Scott spoke seriously, "I've heard the ranchers are threatening to make trouble for McCoy. My guess is that McCoy wants to have a hold over the ranchers, to prevent them making any moves against him. But that will only work if he gets control of all, or most, of the ranchers' land. Aycliffe may be able to convince enough of the ranchers, I'm not saying that he won't. But it's risky and awkward, and even if it all goes through, it's still going to be more underhand than any honourable man should be happy about. Come on, Dennison, let it go. Wish Mr Aycliffe and his friends well and come back to Boston. There are plenty of other good investments, good opportunities."

Perry shook his head. "No, I've given my word. Apart from anything else, the cattle experts who Mr Carling has asked to come up from Texas are arriving tonight. They're coming in good faith and they'll have to be paid. Their fees are being covered out of the money I've deposited in Foyle's bank. Even if this deal doesn't go through, or I decide not to proceed with it…" Good! thought Scott, he's starting to cover himself, "… these gentlemen are entitled to what they've been promised. I'd rather lose whatever their services cost than be a party to cheating them, or go back on my word," he lifted his head proudly.

Scott nodded. It was Perry's saving grace, his integrity and honesty. He agreed absolutely, himself, with Perry's declaration. Better to lose some money than lose one's character or self-respect. And these professional fees shouldn't make too great a dent in Perry's inheritance.

"Alright, stay a few more days and see what sort of report these men give, and honour their contract. You're right, if they're working in good faith, they're entitled to what's been agreed upon. How does Mr Carling come to know them, by the way? Has he told you anything about them, or how he got to be connected to the cattle trade himself?" Privately, Scott was still wondering whether these 'cattle experts' would really turn out to be just that, or … well, he didn't like to think of the 'or'.

"Oh, Mr Carling worked for quite some time on one of the big cattle ranches in Texas. He knows several important Texan cattlemen; I know he's mentioned a Mr Grimes and a Mr Pierce. And once he starts talking about cattle, especially those Longhorns, well, if you hear him there's no doubting his expertise," Perry declared, starting to sound confident again.

Scott wondered how Perry would tell cattle expertise from mumbo-jumbo. Trouble was, he wouldn't be able to, himself. Both he and Perry would be utterly in the dark when it came to assessing Carling's claims in that regard. But at least he seemed to have triggered some doubt in Perry's mind. He hoped so; he didn't want to humiliate the boy too much by simply dragging him back East. Much better if Perry could be persuaded to give the project up under the conviction that he had exercised his own good judgment. At the idea of Perry Dennison and 'good judgment' in the same breath Scott felt the laughter welling up. He got to his feet before it could take hold.

"We'd best get ready to go to the Walkers'. Ranchers usually eat early," he said.

"I'll have to go back to Mr Aycliffe's and change," said Perry, "I'm not dressed for a dinner engagement."

"Nonsense, you're over-dressed for supper on a farm," Scott told him. "You can freshen up in my room and we'll be on our way."

"Well, at least I'll change back into my proper shoes. These Western boots are utterly appalling," Perry grumbled.

"They're good, well-made boots," Scott said with a grin, "They'll last you a lifetime."

"I certainly hope not!" was Perry's horrified reply.

* * *

"So about a month, Carling thinks?" Aycliffe asked.

"That's right, maybe a little less. Of course, some ranches will be affected sooner than others. It'll be a matter of keeping your ear to the ground and approaching each rancher at the right moment," Jardine commented.

"That's easy enough," replied Aycliffe. Judging the right moment to get at a man's weakness was his speciality. "You can leave that to me. I'll get the ranchers' signatures on those documents, don't worry."

Jardine didn't really care. If Aycliffe could pull off this stunt of getting McCoy to sign over a large chunk of his company, well and good. He'd sit back and enjoy life as a prosperous cattle shipper. He doubted, himself, whether McCoy would ever agree to it. But he had everything in place for his real plan.

His bluff to Harkness about getting legal protection had worked nicely to keep the ranchers from trying to reach a compromise with McCoy. Not altogether a bluff, he supposed. He would be going to Topeka in due course to do some legal lobbying. But he knew it would take more than weak complaints from a few ranchers under threat to get the law he wanted passed. A public outcry at the total ruin of the ranchers of the district was what would be needed to get the Texas cattle away from Abilene and where he wanted them. And Carling's little revenge on one of those ranchers could only help things along.

* * *

Carling saw the two men approaching from the south. They were riding at a steady pace but he noticed the wary look about both of them, an alertness, a watching to either side – he'd ridden like that himself often enough to spot it.

One of them would never attract any notice; apart from the gun on his hip, there was nothing to distinguish him from the scores of cowpunchers drifting about looking for a job or a saloon. The other one, though, stood out – a half-breed, a mestizo, dressed like a Mexican but not quite dark enough, and somehow holding himself more proudly than most of the Mexican cowboys who came up the Chisholm Trail. That would be Madrid. Carling reined in his horse and waited until the two riders reached him, then spoke.

"Mr Madrid?" The gunfighter nodded but didn't say anything.

"My name's Carling. I work for Mr Dennison. He asked me to come and meet you. Thought I could fill you in a little on what he'd like you to do."

"Good," said Johnny. He turned to his friend. "This is my partner, Isham." Isham grinned and tipped his hat to Carling, who nodded an acknowledgment.

Johnny started his horse moving again. "So, tell us what Mr Dennison is aiming to do," he said.

"Mr Dennison has an interest in the cattle trade," Carling began, "In the cattle shipping business, to be exact. But there are certain men in Abilene who are being … obstructive."

"And you want us to get rid of them," Johnny stated. "How many?"

"Two," said Carling. "Maybe more, if necessary, but Mr Dennison wants the bloodshed kept to a minimum."

"Well, Mr Dennison sure sounds like a nice gentleman," Isham put in.

"These two men, are they well-known, important? Is there gonna be a lot of fuss when they're found dead?" Johnny wanted to know.

"No," said Carling, "one of them's just a rancher. He has a family and they'll make a noise, of course, but you can leave him until later; deal with him just before you leave. There's no marshal in Abilene. It'll take a few days for any lawman to get here and start investigating; by that time you can be a long way off. The other one is from the East. No-one knows him here in Abilene except for Mr Dennison. We'd like you to dispose of him right away, but nobody will notice he's gone. Get him somewhere secluded, get a bullet into him and let me know. I'll take care of the body. Once I've paid his hotel bill, no-one in Abilene will care where he is. And by the time his friends in Boston realize he's not coming home, it'll be far too late to track you down, if they connect you with him at all. You have nothing to worry about," Carling finished confidently.

"You said we'd finish the rancher off later," Johnny queried. "Why not get rid of him right away as well? What are we doin' in the meantime?"

"Well, that's the second part of the job Mr Dennison has for you. It should only take a few days and it's very easy. When the cattle herds come up from Texas, the cowboys mainly keep them on the trail, then once they get to Abilene they're kept in the holding yards or in pasture that's been set aside for them. We need them to stray off the trail and spread out onto the land around the town."

"You want us to herd cattle around?" asked Isham. "Hey, we don't know nothin' about cattle. We're not cowboys!"

"You don't need to be," Carling responded. "It's quite a simple job: just fire a few shots near to the herds to start them straying. Of course, there's a risk that some of the cowboys might get in your way, then you'd have to take whatever measures you needed to, but they're unlikely to cause you any real trouble or start trying to fight. Some of them carry guns but they're not paid enough to risk getting killed. If you do it at night, when there are only a few cowboys watching the herd, you should have no trouble."

They were coming in sight of the town.

"Shall I tell Mr Dennison you'll be taking the job?" Carling asked with a confident smile.

"We'll give it some thought and let you know first thing in the morning," Johnny replied. He kept his expression carefully neutral. Carling was taken aback.

"I was hoping to tell Mr Dennison you would be starting on the job right away," he frowned.

"That's the way we work," Johnny told him firmly. The look in his eye was one even Carling was not going to argue with. Very few men did.

"I'll arrange some lodgings for you in one of the boarding houses, at Mr Dennison's expense, of course," Carling offered.

"No thanks, we'll camp outside the town."

"Very well," Carling conceded. "I'll be at the Old Bull Saloon. Just let me know if there's anything you need."

"Thanks, we'll be fine," Johnny replied. Carling touched his hat and rode off. He was not best pleased, he'd expected an eager agreement, but there wasn't much he could do. Trying to hustle Johnny Madrid was not an option for any man with sense.

"What do you think, Johnny?" Isham asked when Carling was gone. "Sounds like a nice easy job to me. Kill two not-so-important men and get a few cattle straying. Seems to me we might as well take Mr Dennison's money and get started."

Johnny shook his head. "No. Isham, this guy's crazy. He don't know nothin' about cattle that's for sure. Firin' a gun at a cattle herd won't get them sweetly strayin' about, it'll start 'em stampedin'. You ever see a cattle stampede?"

"No. Have you?" Isham sounded surprised. He hadn't realized Johnny Madrid knew anything about cattle.

"Yeah, I rode on a cattle drive once. The herd got spooked one day and stampeded. I tell ya, Isham, you ain't never seen anythin' like it. An' if you get in the way, you got no chance." He shuddered. "One cowboy, he got knocked off his horse and went down under the cattle. When we found him, we could tell who it was by what was left of his shirt, not what was left of his face.

"And another thing," he added, "Carling said he worked for this Dennison, but he kept sayin' 'we', like he was hirin' us himself. It just don't sound right, Isham. I say we go talk to Harkness and see if he can offer us a better deal."

"Fine by me. But it still comes down to who's gonna pay us more, I reckon," Isham responded.

"No good getting' paid more if we don't live to spend it," Johnny told him. "I don't wanna finish this job gettin' trampled by a herd of spooked cattle or swingin' from a gallows. I wanna end up in a lively cantina with money in my pocket and a pretty whore on my knee."

"Well, I won't argue with that," Isham grinned.


	10. Chapter 10

Clem Harkness sat at a table in the Old Bull saloon, a beer in front of him. The newspaper he had been combing through now lay on the table. He had had a feeble hope – a desperate hope, he admitted to himself – that it would contain some word, some mention of the legislation Mr Jardine was working to push through that would force McCoy to move his operation to Ellsworth. That legislation would be the saving of the Abilene ranchers. But there was nothing. The letter he'd received from Jardine a few days ago had assured him that proceedings would soon be underway, and urged him to be patient, but Carling's presence in Abilene could only mean that McCoy was not going to sit and wait. Now time had run out. The men would arrive tonight and his decisions would have to be made. He had to be sure that those decisions were the right ones, and that was why he was here in the Old Bull.

Heaven knew, it was not where he wanted to be. There was work in plenty waiting for him at the ranch and that's what he wanted to be doing, not drifting around the town acting the spy. It seemed like that was all he'd been doing these last weeks. But he didn't want to make a mistake. Carling could be gotten rid of and no-one would lament, he knew, but Aycliffe could possibly be another matter. Almost certainly, just by the fact that he was working with Carling, he was more on the wrong side of the law than the right, but Harkness wished he could be absolutely sure. He'd lost almost everything once and had worked and struggled to re-build his life. He wasn't going to lose it all again because of McCoy's greed, but neither did he want to throw everything away by laying himself open to a murder charge.

He wished he could be sure about Garrett, too. The assumed name, and more significantly his false claim to be related to Murdoch Lancer, implied that he had no family who would be concerned about his fate. Implied, too, that whatever his business was here in Abilene, it wasn't above board. Given his contact with Carling as well, it added up to a very shady character for Scott Garrett.

But Harkness couldn't quite rid himself of a niggling doubt. It was Reverend Thomas's confidence in the man that was doing it. And there was this boy, Dennison, as well. Where did he fit into the picture?

It would come down to how closely Garrett was involved with Carling and it was the chance of finding an answer to that question that had brought Harkness into the Old Bull. He'd observed both Aycliffe and Carling coming and going from the saloon, sometimes together but sometimes separately, as if they were meeting another person there. Harkness wanted to find out if that person was Garrett. Aycliffe had gone through a door leading out of the main bar into, presumably, a private room about twenty minutes ago. Harkness had found a seat where he would be able to get a glimpse into that room when Aycliffe came out. Now he was waiting.

Reverend Thomas wiped off his pen and returned it to its holder. He was finding that he couldn't sit calmly making notes for a sermon with this worry nagging at the back of his mind. Worry for Scott Lancer, and for Clem Harkness as well.

Harkness had been alone when he arrived in Abilene. His family would be joining him once he had gotten a house built for them, he had explained. It was only some weeks later, when Clem had come to the minister to arrange his wedding to the mail order bride who would be arriving the next day, that Reverend Thomas had heard Harkness' story. A homestead claim in Nebraska, a spell of dry weather. A fire that swept through and left crops destroyed, the house burned to the ground, financial ruin and Harkness's wife and eldest son dead. The claim lost and the three surviving children sent to live with neighbours and friends because Harkness had no home to give them. Years of work to get the money to start over – any sort of work, including that soul-sickening spell as a prison warder. And a marriage to give his children a mother so he could bring them home.

The Reverend understood why Clem was willing to do anything to protect what he'd fought so hard to regain but there was a risk, a very real risk, that that very desire to protect could drive Clem into going too far. And Reverend Thomas knew that nothing would give Clem Harkness greater dismay and regret than finding he had caused harm to come to an innocent man.

He decided that he would pay a visit to the Harkness farm that evening and explain to Clem the reason behind Scott's different names. The minister was reluctant to tell one man's secrets to another, but what Scott had told him about Murdoch Lancer hadn't been in a strict confidence, and it seemed to Reverend Thomas that a few words spoken now might prevent a move which would be disastrous for Harkness and his family, and for Scott Lancer.

Finally the door Harkness had been watching opened and Aycliffe came out, pausing in the doorway for a moment for a final word with the room's occupant. For a few seconds Harkness had a clear view of the other man. Not Garrett, after all. It was Jardine.

Aycliffe closed the door and left the saloon and Harkness sat stunned for a moment. Jardine was supposed to be in Topeka, lobbying for the legislation that would protect the Kansas ranchers. The letter Harkness had received from him only two days ago had been written from there – supposedly. Now here Jardine was in Abilene, apparently in league with Carling and Aycliffe, who in turn were working with McCoy.

Harkness rose and quickly left the saloon in his turn. He didn't want Jardine to realize he'd been seen. He churned the situation over in his mind as he strode down the street. Were Aycliffe and Carling working with Jardine to get that legislation passed? Or had he been taken for a fool by Jardine? All those reassurances, those urgings to be patient – had they been a blind? Was Jardine using him to keep the ranchers quiet until … what?

One thing he was certain of: even if whatever Jardine was up to was aimed at getting the new laws passed, Harkness wanted no part in anything Tege Calton was involved in.

But he doubted that was the case, anyway. The more he thought, the more he became convinced that Jardine had taken advantage of his eagerness to settle things peacefully and had fed him a story which, he now admitted, he had wanted to believe.

Fury welled up in him. Whatever plan was going on to destroy the ranchers whom McCoy regarded as a nuisance, it was going no further. There would be an end to it, now. Johnny Madrid's fee would be a little higher than first thought – the name Jardine had been added to his assignment.

* * *

"Things are going well for you, Jack, it looks to me," Scott said to Jack Walker when he, Perry, Jack and Sarah were seated around the table in the Walkers' home that evening. It was a new, boughten table, not the home-made one of former days and it was not the only new item of furniture in the room. None of it was grand, by any means, but it all spoke of prosperous times.

"Yes indeed," Jack acknowledged, "farming is a good business to be in these days in Abilene. It's all the cowboys coming in, you see. First thing you think of them doing is drinking, and they do plenty of that, no question about it. But they've got to eat, too, and the boarding houses and the hotel and the saloons, they're yelling for more than the farmers can supply. Flour, vegetables, eggs, butter … we can't produce enough, so extra has to be freighted in, and that keeps the prices high. Forget about cattle; if you want to make your fortune in Abilene right now, just start growing potatoes," he laughed.

Scott laughed along with him. "That's good to hear, Jack," he said, "I'm pleased things are swinging your way. I've heard that some of the local cattle ranchers aren't doing so well," he added in a more serious tone.

Jack nodded. "That's right. Cattle are a good business in Abilene if you're bringing in Longhorns, but not if you're trying to raise Shorthorns. The two breeds don't mix. Have you heard of the Spanish fever?" Scott nodded and Jack went on. "Some ranchers have been wiped out and they're all getting unhappy."

"Unhappy enough to cause trouble?" asked Scott. He wanted to hear what Jack thought. As neither a rancher nor a cattle shipper, he would have a clearer view of what was happening on both sides.

"Yes. Who have you been talking to?" Jack came back at him. He, in his turn, had been wondering what had brought Scott back to Abilene, though he hadn't yet asked outright. He just hoped and prayed that his friend wasn't involved in the cattle trade here, on either side.

"A fellow named Harkness," Scott replied. "He seems very determined to stop McCoy from bringing these Longhorns into Abilene. Do you know him?"

"Oh, yes, he's been in Abilene a while now. Came here not long after you left," Jack told him. "You've got him pegged right: determined, that's what he is. Not a bad man, mind you, I think he'd rather settle things peaceably than not. Matter of fact, I heard him talking once about getting a law passed that would force McCoy to move somewhere else. That would solve the ranchers' troubles. Haven't heard anything about it going through, though, and if it doesn't, well, I think Harkness would be willing to do whatever he felt he had to."

"That's about what Reverend Thomas said," Scott remarked. "It was at his house that I met Harkness."

"Mrs Harkness has been a blessing to Abilene," Sarah put in. "She was a governess back East and she teaches the local children three mornings a week. It's the closest thing we have to a school. She's a fine woman – I'd hate to think of any harm coming to her because of her husband's foolishness. There are three children, too. I just hope Mr Harkness gives some thought to his family before he starts leading the ranchers into anything rash."

"I hope so, too," said Jack. "It was through Harkness that we heard about Carling's background – I suppose Reverend Thomas told you that?" He looked at Scott, who nodded again. Jack was about to continue when Perry broke in.

"How do you know this man Harkness is telling the truth about Mr Carling?" he demanded.

"I don't," Jack conceded, "but I have no reason to doubt his word and I don't know of any reason for him to lie. Without one or the other, I'm going to believe him."

"You said that this Harkness was against Mr McCoy's shipping business. I happen to know that Mr Carling is working with Mr McCoy. That might be reason enough for Harkness to spread falsehoods about him," Perry told Jack, a stubborn look on his face.

"Is that so?" queried Jack, looking from Perry to Scott.

"Yes, Jack, I believe it is the case," Scott told him. "At least, Carling is working with a Mr Aycliffe, and Aycliffe apparently is working with McCoy. The two of them were together when I was introduced to them, my first evening in Abilene."

"Hmm, this Aycliffe may have been in McCoy's company but that doesn't necessarily mean McCoy is doing business with him," remarked Jack shrewdly. "He wouldn't be the first tin-pot speculator fluttering around McCoy hoping to siphon off some of the money McCoy's been making, and I doubt if he'll be the last."

"Samuel Foyle was with them. He's handling the financial side of things, I gather," Scott added. Jack spluttered and burst out laughing.

"Joseph McCoy doing business with Samuel Foyle? I'll believe that when I see my son-in-law's pigs sprout wings and fly out of their pen! No, Scott, McCoy will be stringing them along for the fun of it and laughing up his sleeve the whole time. He's got a sharp sense of humour, has McCoy and he doesn't suffer fools for a moment.

"Folk'll tell you the story of how not long back, a railroad agent came along to see McCoy, trying to persuade him to use his company's trains for shipping the cattle. Now, before McCoy started up here, he'd gone around all the railroad companies, trying to work a deal with one of them. The president of this very railroad, he'd told McCoy real snooty-like, 'It occurs to me that you haven't any cattle to ship, and never did have any, and I, sir, have no evidence that you ever will have any, therefore, get out of this office.' So when this agent comes along, trying to get the business after all, what does McCoy say to him but that it just occurred to him that he had no cattle for his road, never had, and there was no evidence that he ever would have, and to please say so to his President." Jack chuckled again, then became serious.

"I'd say most likely that Mr Carling and his friend are in for a very rude awakening. And when that happens," he looked for a moment at Scott, then turned very sternly to Perry, "it will NOT be wise to be mixed up with them in any sort of way."

* * *

Reverend Thomas received a friendly welcome, as he always did, when he knocked on the Harkness' door that evening. Clem's wife ushered him into the living room and Clem rose to greet him.

"Evening, Reverend, come sit down."

"Thank you, Clem. How are you, Daisy?" to Clem's wife.

"I am very well, thank you, Reverend Thomas." Daisy Harkness always spoke correctly, a grace stemming from her days as a governess in good society families in Baltimore and Boston. Her flowery name seemed inapt at first glance: she always dressed plainly, usually still in the gray suitable to a governess, and there was a reserve about her that Reverend Thomas had never been able to reach through. Yet in other ways, the Reverend thought, the name fitted her perfectly. The daisy was the plainest of flowers but had an unassuming beauty for those ready to appreciate it. He had never found out why she left the comfort of a situation in one of the most elegant households in Baltimore to become a rancher's wife. He wondered if even Clem knew. But she had fulfilled the obligations she had taken on and more, and had earned the respect of all who knew her and the quiet gratitude of the man she had married.

"Clem, I came to talk to you about Scott Lancer," Reverend Thomas came right to the point when they were seated and coffee poured.

"Garrett, you mean," Harkness corrected grimly. Daisy's head came up.

"I found out about that," the Reverend smiled. "It seems he is known as Garrett amongst his friends in Boston. He was raised by his maternal grandfather and commonly uses his grandfather's name. I know you were concerned that there was something untoward about it but it's really quite simple."

Harkness frowned. "It sounds a plausible explanation he's given you, Reverend, but it doesn't explain why he pretended to be a relation of Murdoch Lancer. I checked with my cousin in California. Murdoch Lancer doesn't have any relatives in America. Garrett's claim to be related to him was a fabrication."

"Your cousin got the wrong information then, Clem," the Reverend told him. "Scott is Murdoch Lancer's son."

Daisy had been listening intently. Now she said, "Scott Garrett – that would be Harlan Garrett's grandson. I knew of the Garretts when I lived in Boston years ago."

"Really?" said Clem. "Did you ever hear of him being Murdoch Lancer's son?"

"Yes, I do recall hearing something of that."

Hearing something? The servants' halls had been abuzz for a week with speculation about the man who had arrived at the Garrett mansion on the day of Master Scott's fifth birthday party. Daisy had been in her first situation then, as nurse to the two little Elstern girls. They had been at the party, of course, and the other servants had pumped Daisy for information about the man, but she had been concentrating on her two young charges and had barely caught a glimpse of him as he'd stood in the doorway. Besides, she never did indulge in servants' gossip. The Elstern household had moved to Baltimore soon after and she hadn't given the Garretts any more thought, but she recalled now that Cook had said the mystery man was Master Scott's father, and yes, his name had been something like Lancer.

Clem was thoughtful. "It seems you're right then, Reverend. Mr Garrett – or Lancer – is a respectable person after all."

"Absolutely," Reverend Thomas declared. "I'm worried, I'll admit, about what sort of mischief Scott's young friend has gotten into, but there is no fear of Scott Lancer being anything but totally honest," the minister stated firmly.

When the Reverend had gone, Clem shrugged on his jacket and left the house through the back door. He was expecting other visitors tonight. His instructions to Madrid had been to come late, after his children would be asleep, and to wait for him at the trees behind the large barn.

He'd decided not to include Scott Garrett in Madrid's commission. He still had his doubts about the man – he wondered how a fair-haired son could tie in with Murdoch Lancer's Mexican wife – but he wasn't going to take stupid chances. If he was connected with a well-to-do Boston family, then whatever his name was, there would be a hue and cry if he were found murdered. And three should be enough. Three dead men should be enough to show McCoy that the ranchers of Abilene wouldn't stand idle and let themselves be ruined.

He could just make out two figures on horseback, well within the shelter of the trees. Clem Harkness went forward to give the instructions that would bring about those three dead men.

A short time later he returned to the house, the determination on his face set and firm. There would be no turning back now. The job was in the hands of Johnny Madrid.


	11. Chapter 11

Scott and Perry walked back into town after bidding goodnight to Jack and Sarah, Perry thinking to himself that he had done a year's worth of walking this past week. Carriages seemed to be an almost unknown luxury out here, he thought in disgust. He'd seen a few comfortable looking buggies from time to time but no-one seemed to think anything of walking to wherever they wanted to go. Even Garrett, who should know better, never seemed to think of hiring some civilized transport. But then, he'd had that army experience which probably exposed him to some hellishly unsophisticated people and besides, the Garretts had never been quite in the same class as the Dennisons. Which reminded him …

"If I'm not being too curious, Garrett," he prefaced his question, "I noticed that Mr and Mrs Walker called you by another name once or twice – Lancer, wasn't it? And when we were in the saloon, Mr Walker mentioned someone called Lancer who he thought might be a relative of yours. I can't for the life of me place the name; I've never heard of any family by that name in Boston or even New York."

"No, you wouldn't have. As far as I know I'm the only Lancer in Boston and since my father immigrated from Scotland, it's quite possible that he and I are the only Lancers in the United States," Scott told him.

Perry blinked. "Oh, of course, how stupid of me! I quite forgot for a moment that Mr Garrett is your maternal grandfather. Terrible lapse on my part," he apologised. "I quite understand how you wouldn't want to use a totally unknown name in Boston. I suppose out here it's different."

"Yes, it is. As a matter of fact," Scott told him shortly, "the Lancer name is very well respected in the West." Damn it, he didn't understand why he had suddenly been so needled by the boy's arrogance. It was something he usually laughed off. Why should it bother him now? And over his father's name!

They were coming up to the Alamo Saloon. Light was showing through the windows and the place appeared to be open although customers were still only being admitted through the side door. Perry looked over at the building.

"Er, I was thinking, Garrett," he began, sounding unusually unsure of himself, "perhaps a nightcap …"

Scott had been going to suggest the same thing but at the hotel. Still, it made no difference, although he was surprised at Perry making a move into a saloon. They went in and found a table. The proprietor recognized them from earlier in the day and nodded at them, signalling to a waitress. It was the same girl who had served them at lunch – Tillie, hadn't Jack said her name was? – and the smile which hit Perry's face as he caught sight of her gave Scott a sudden suspicion of why the boy had wanted to come in here. Suspicion? No, make that certainty. Well, Jack had said she was safe.

Scott leaned back and concentrated on keeping a straight face as he watched Perry blushing while Tillie poured their drinks. She was wearing a dress that was even shorter as well as much fancier than the one she had worn in the morning and Perry was struggling to look and not look at the same time.

Scott decided he would just have one drink then leave Perry in Tillie's tender care. She kept fluttering around their table and Scott was confident that she would be in quickly to keep Perry company once Scott had left. He drained his glass and rose to his feet. Perry looked up at him, a touch of alarm on his face.

"I'll be on my way," Scott said. "Now remember," he admonished Perry, "a gentleman doesn't haggle over price with a lady and always pays up front. And leave something extra afterwards, before you go, to show your appreciation. I'll see you tomorrow. Good night." Scott left quickly while Perry was still startled speechless and carefully kept a serious expression on his face until he got out of the saloon. Then he permitted himself the indulgence of laughing all the way back to the hotel.

* * *

"I tell you, Isham, these ranchers have the right of it. Gettin' your whole livelihood wiped out so some bastard can make a quick profit is no joke."

Johnny and Isham had made their camp about a mile outside the town. Harkness had told them what he wanted them to do and in answer to Johnny's questions, had told them why.

"Who cares, Johnny. Right or wrong don't make no difference, so long as we get paid what we've been promised," Isham came back. Johnny was silent. Maybe that's how it was for Isham, but for him, stupid as it might be, the right and wrong did make a difference.

"Anyhow," Isham went on, "let's give Carling one more hearing. He's payin' more. And we haven't heard what Mr Dennison had to say yet. Might be, if we let him have his say you'll agree with his side o' things."

"No, I don't think so," Johnny contradicted him. "Besides, sounds like Carling wants us to kill one man, then hang around frightening cattle for a few days before we go after the second one. That's not a good way to work, Isham. Better to get the job done then get out. And I still think Carling's plan would likely end up causin' a lot of stampeding cattle and that's somethin' I don't want to be anywhere near."

"So what do we do about Carling tomorrow? Find him, tell him we're not doin' the job for him, then shoot him?" Isham asked.

"No, we meet him at the Old Bull Saloon, and chat with him real nice, and ask to meet the other gentlemen," stated Johnny. "With any sort of luck, he'll introduce us to Mr Aycliffe and Mr Jardine, then we'll know exactly who we're goin' for, no risk of killin' the wrong men. Harkness gave us a good description of the fellers he wants to be rid of but if we can have 'em named for definite, so much the better."

Isham grinned. "You are one cunning hombre, Johnny Madrid!" he said.

* * *

Carling was waiting outside the door of the Fidelity and Mercantile Bank when Samuel Foyle arrived the next morning.

"Ah, Mr Carling, good morning, sir. Bright and early today, I see!" Foyle's voluble greeting didn't quite hide the touch of nervousness in his voice.

Carling had been disturbed by Madrid's reluctance to commit to the job the previous evening. He wanted to make sure of the man – the other one had seemed content to follow Madrid's lead – and he knew that hard cash was the best argument to convince men of Madrid's trade. He was here at the bank now to get the gunfighters' downpayment, to have it ready when they came. He hid his impatience with Foyle's idiocy and answered as they entered the bank.

"We need to be moving along with our business, Mr Foyle. We'll be making our first outlay today, so I'll trouble you for a part of the money Mr Dennison has deposited with you. He's given me full authority to draw on the funds, as you know."

Foyle was looking more nervous, in fact slightly alarmed. "Hasn't Mr Aycliffe spoken with you?" he ventured.

"Spoken about what?" Carling demanded sharply.

"Mr Dennison's money isn't actually available, after all. There was some misunderstanding there. But," he hurried on as a look of fury came onto Carling's face, "Mr Aycliffe is making other arrangements."

"What other arrangements?" barked Carling.

The banker tried to sound assured. "Mr Lancer is very interested in making an investment in your venture. He approached me for advice on investment opportunities here in Kansas and, knowing of the slight difficulty which had cropped up in relation to Mr Dennison, I suggested that he speak with Mr Aycliffe. Of course, my recommendation carried quite some weight with Mr Lancer …"

"Lancer?" Carling interrupted him. "Who..?" then stopped as he recalled Aycliffe mentioning someone named Lancer who wanted to buy land in Abilene. But Foyle was rushing in with an explanation.

"Mr Scott Lancer, young Mr Dennison's friend from Boston. Have you not met him? I thought Mr Dennison would have introduced you."

"No," said Carling shortly. "But why is Dennison's money not available? What's happened to it?" he demanded.

"Oh, the money is safely in my bank," Foyle assured him, "but I have learned from Mr Lancer that Mr Dennison is actually under age, you see, and I couldn't possibly release his money without his father's permission. If I were to do so, there could be legal repercussions – for all involved!" he added in an unusual display of boldness.

Carling's expression grew dark. Jardine had made a mistake, it seemed, a mistake which might mean the ruin of their plans – or worse. Carling didn't want to think of the possible consequences of bringing two gunfighters, one of them Johnny Madrid, several hundred miles and being unable to pay them.

And what was Aycliffe about? Carling remembered, now, that Aycliffe had been keen on the idea of simply selling the prospective mortgages to Scott Lancer. Was he making some arrangements with Lancer now, on his own account, and for his own benefit?

"Excuse me, Mr Foyle, it seems I need to speak with Mr Aycliffe and clarify the situation. Good day."

"Good day to you, Mr Carling." Samuel Foyle's voice held a large measure of relief as Carling walked away.

* * *

Scott lingered over his coffee after breakfast to consider his next move and to allow a little time for digestion. He had decided this morning to tackle the issue of unremitting beef and had asked for eggs for breakfast. To his pleasure, the waiter assured him that the cook would be happy to oblige. He got two fried eggs on top of his beefsteak.

He knew he didn't need to rush. Perry would certainly not be up early this morning. According to what Carling had said, these cattle experts would be starting their work today and he wondered how long they would take. Presumably nothing would be done about buying the Longhorn cattle for the ranchers until the experts had made their report. He hoped he would be able to persuade Perry to leave before then. If enough of Perry's money to pay their fees had to be left behind, that was no great matter. What Scott had determined to do today was to find out just how much those fees were going to be and how much time he would have to spirit Perry out of Abilene before things went any further.

He decided to take a little stroll before going to Aycliffe's house. Gentle exercise was supposed to be good for the stomach.

* * *

Carling strode through Aycliffe's front gate and straight into the house. Aycliffe looked up, startled, as the man came to a halt in front of him.

"I've just been speaking with Foyle," Carling wasted no words on a greeting. "Apparently there's a little matter you've forgotten to mention to Mr Jardine and myself. Like this arrangement you're making with Scott Lancer!"

"I haven't made any arrangements yet," Aycliffe answered coolly, although the threatening anger in Carling's stance made him quail. "But it looks like I'll need to. Lancer is our best chance of getting the cash we need. Apparently Dennison's money is out of the picture, or so Foyle says. It seems Lancer came out here to put a stop to the deal. Dennison's father is kicking up a stink back in Boston and Foyle's too terrified to release a penny. So unless you want to start dynamiting Foyle's safe," which he's probably had practice in, Aycliffe thought, "you'd better hope I succeed with Lancer. Otherwise, at the very least, you'll have some explaining to do to your two gentlemen from Texas. I take it they've arrived, by the way?"

"Yes, they've arrived and yes, they'll need to be paid and quickly," Carling told him. "Tell Lancer whatever you have to, to get his money into the bank but make no mistake, Aycliffe, I'm not losing out on this deal with McCoy. Go ahead with that as planned and we'll deal with Lancer later. And if you don't get that money, and quickly," Carling paused and Aycliffe found himself quailing again, "… you will be the one explaining to the two gentlemen, not me."

"Leave it to me," was all Aycliffe said. Carling nodded, turned and strode out. Aycliffe sat for a few moments after he left then rose and went to knock on Perry Dennison's bedroom door. He'd realized that he still had no idea where Lancer was staying. He'd have to find out from the boy and get to work on Lancer quickly. Because Aycliffe had also realized he had no time to lose; he had just had a glimpse of Tege Calton, murderer.

* * *

Carling headed back to the Old Bull to tell Jardine about this new development. It all hinged now, he thought to himself, on getting this money out of Lancer. If Aycliffe didn't succeed then Carling would have to make sure that the gunhawks believed Dennison was to blame for the failure to pay and took their revenge on him.

On the other hand, if Aycliffe did succeed then the only complication would be getting rid of Lancer. And that shouldn't present a problem, just a slight increase in the fees that Lancer's own money would be paying, due to an increase in the gunfighters' assignment. Along with Garrett and Harkness, the pistoleros would be killing Scott Lancer.


	12. Chapter 12

"You've slipped up big time, Jardine!" Carling barged into the private room of the Old Bull as unceremoniously as he had barged into Aycliffe's drawing room a little earlier.

"Slipped up?" Jardine raised one eyebrow quizzically. "One thing I can assure you of, Carling, is that I don't 'slip up'. What's given you an erroneous idea like that?"

"The fact that when I went to Foyle's bank to get the cash to pay our workers from the south, Foyle told me he couldn't give it to me. Seems Dennison's under age and the money can't be spent without his father's permission." The escalating rage showed on Carling's face.

"Mr Foyle has received the wrong information, then," Jardine responded. "Do you think I wouldn't check on something so obvious? Yes, Dennison is under age, but under the terms of his grandmother's will he has full access to and disposal of the money. What's happened to make Foyle think otherwise?"

"Lancer, this Scott Lancer that Aycliffe was talking about the other night," Carling growled. "He's a friend of Dennison's and he's told Foyle that if the money is released without the father's permission, the older Dennison will start prosecuting. Foyle's terrified and even if we tell him Lancer's wrong, I think he'd still be too scared to take the chance. And," he paused, his fury increasing, "…Foyle told Aycliffe about this two days ago and Aycliffe has never said a word to us."

"And why do you think that might be?" Jardine's voice was calm but the look he gave Carling was sharp.

"You remember he wanted to do a quick land deal with Lancer?" Carling asked. Jardine nodded and Carling went on. "Well, according to Foyle, Aycliffe's been negotiating with Lancer. Sounds to me like he's thinking about arranging that land deal, probably with a fast disappearing act afterwards."

"Have you spoken with Aycliffe? What does he say?" Jardine wanted to know.

"He says he's going to get cash off of Lancer to use instead of Dennison's money, but I don't trust him." The scowl on Carling's face deepened.

"I don't trust him either," Jardine commented, "but it seems to me we might as well let him go ahead. Whatever his intentions, if he manages to get the funds it will save us the bother of forcing Foyle to hand Dennison's money over – which we can still do, if by chance Aycliffe doesn't get the cash off Lancer. But I think he will."

"What makes you so sure?" asked Carling sharply.

"Because if Lancer has gone to so much trouble to undercut Dennison, then he must be almighty keen to get in on the deal himself," Jardine stated.

"But why? What is it he's after?" Carling queried.

Jardine shrugged. "Who knows? Most likely Aycliffe's right and the Lancers want to expand into Kansas, and this Scott Lancer thinks he's found an easy way of doing it. Doesn't matter," he went on as the angry expression came back onto Carling's face. "We'll get his money off him and give him just the same return we were planning to give Dennison." A touch of amusement had crept into Jardine's voice as he spoke the last words.

"Lancer may be harder to fob off than Dennison," Carling remarked. He wanted to see if the same solution occurred to Jardine as had to himself. It did.

"Your friends from down south could obviate the necessity of placating him, I'm sure." Jardine's voice still held amusement, albeit now a little steely.

A slow smile came onto Carling's face. "Oh, yes, provided we have the cash to pay them I'm sure they'll be happy to help."

* * *

"There's the Old Bull. What do we do, knock quietly on the back door?" Isham asked.

Johnny grinned. "Nope, no need for that. Our faces aren't famous in Abilene – not yet anyway. I say we walk in and get a drink."

"Might be the easiest way, at that," agreed Isham.

They found a spare table and ordered drinks.

Isham leaned back in his chair. "Now, we just have to keep an eye out for Mr Carling."

"Or the other two. Harkness was pretty good with his descriptions. I reckon we got a good chance of spottin' 'em." Johnny lifted his glass. "Here's to success!"

"Here's to gettin' paid!" responded Isham.

"That too!"

They drank, and waited.

* * *

In the back room, Jardine paced around. Carling had gone out to watch for his two experts.

Jardine was more worried than he had let on to Carling. More worried, by a long shot. He knew of Murdoch Lancer by reputation and he suspected that there was more to a relation of his turning up than just getting a foothold for the Lancer ranch in Abilene. Murdoch Lancer had founded a Cattlemen's Association in California, a do-good organization whose members all looked after not only one another's interests but also the interests of the small ranchers in their district. It would be just like a man of Murdoch Lancer's stamp, if somehow he heard what was in the wind, to send one of his family – son? nephew? didn't matter – to interfere.

He wondered how the Lancers might have heard about the plan of action here in Abilene. Through Dennison, perhaps? The younger Lancer seemed to know enough about Dennison to have frightened off Foyle. But who would have thought California cattlemen would have any acquaintance with a Boston society family?

Jardine scowled. He wasn't going to have the plan stopped now. He'd been working long enough on getting the Prohibitory Law passed and was sick of the delay. He wanted these nice profitable Texas cattle driven to Ellsworth, where he would have control. Before McCoy had set up this operation in Abilene, Jardine had done very well for himself diverting the herds on the trail to points where he and his fellows could get rid of the drovers and 'acquire' the cattle. McCoy had ruined that. Now was his chance to get back in the game and he didn't intend to lose it.

Lancer's interference would have to be stopped, and quickly. All very well to talk about Carling's gunhawks getting rid of him but that plan would be of no use if Lancer really was here to put a spoke in the wheel. No money from either Dennison or Lancer meant no gunhawks. Jardine's hand moved briefly to the gun he always carried hidden beneath his coat. Eliminating Scott Lancer, he decided, was something he had best see to himself.

* * *

"Mr Lancer?" a bleary-eyed Perry responded to Aycliffe's question. "He's staying at the Drovers' Cottage."

"Are you sure? When I asked for him at the desk, they'd never heard of him," Aycliffe almost snapped. Perry drew himself up in offended dignity at Aycliffe's tone.

"Of course I'm sure. You'll probably find him there now, if you want to see him. I doubt if he would have gone out yet – it is rather early for a gentleman to be up," he remarked pointedly.

"Hmph," responded Aycliffe. "Well, I'll try there again." He turned abruptly and walked off.

Perry looked after him. The cheek of the fellow! Almost implying that Perry didn't know what he was talking about. Well, he wasn't going to stand for that. Devilishly early as it was, Perry decided he would get dressed and go after Aycliffe. He could get breakfast at the hotel. It would be worth the trouble to have the satisfaction of watching Aycliffe when he found Garrett there. Or Lancer. Must be awkward for him being known by two different names out here, Perry thought as he went back into his room to dress. He was thankful he was a Dennison, with no uncomfortable connections to explain away.

* * *

Carling saw Madrid and his partner at the corner table. He joined them with a brief "Good morning." He would have to keep the talk off money for the moment, until he heard from Aycliffe.

"I hope you've decided to go ahead, gentlemen," he began.

"Well, now, we're thinkin' we need to know a little more about you," responded Isham.

Carling was taken aback. "What do you need to know?" he asked cautiously.

"What my partner means is that we'd like to talk to Mr Dennison and maybe anyone else who's working with you," Johnny told him. "In our line of work we have to be real careful; make sure we don't get tied up with the wrong people, you know."

Carling frowned. "Mr Dennison prefers that I act on his behalf in this matter," he stated. Lord above, the last thing he wanted was Dennison meeting the men at this stage.

"Oh, we won't take up too much of his time, just a 'howdy-do', that's all. And I suppose an important man like Mr Dennison has other people working for him. You don't mind if we get to meet them as well, do you?" Johnny watched Carling carefully. He wanted to get a sight of those other two, Aycliffe and Jardine, but he was curious about this Mr Dennison. Harkness hadn't mentioned him and the way Carling was pussy-footing, Johnny was starting to wonder if Mr Dennison really existed.

Carling grit his teeth in irritation. Still, at least they weren't demanding cash he didn't have yet. Perhaps he should get hold of Aycliffe, he was the slick talker. He should be able to convince a couple of gunhawks to get on with the job they were being paid for. And if Madrid and Isham were willing to sit around waiting to be introduced to people, well, that would buy a little more time to get some money together.

"Very well," he said. "Why don't you wait here and I'll bring my colleagues along in a moment. Order yourselves some more drinks – I'll have them put on Mr Dennison's account."

"Very nice of you. Thank 'ee," Isham said with a smart grin that made Carling feel uneasy. These two gunhawks seemed just a little too sure of themselves. He rose and went out of the saloon to try to intercept Aycliffe.

Isham turned to Johnny after Carling had left. "At least we're gettin' a few drinks courtesy of dear Mr Dennison. No harm in taking that much from the other side, I reckon."

Johnny was looking thoughtful. "There's something strange about dear Mr Dennison, Isham. Don't it strike you as odd that Harkness didn't say anything about him?"

"Maybe he just don't know about him," Isham shrugged. "Maybe we should tell him and get paid for takin' care of one more." His ready grin appeared again.

"I'm wondering if there really is a Mr Dennison or if Carling has just made him up to cover himself," Johnny said.

"Well, since we're not gonna work for Dennison or Carling anyway, it don't make no difference." Isham pointed out.

"You're right," Johnny laughed. "I guess I'm just curious, is all."

"Careful you don't get too curious for your own good one day," Isham returned.

* * *

Carling caught sight of Aycliffe coming down Cedar Street and called to him.

"What is it, Carling?" demanded Aycliffe. "I'm on my way to see Lancer."

"Come over to the Old Bull first. I need you to talk to the two men from Texas," Carling ordered.

"Your cattle experts? Why do you need me to talk to them?" Aycliffe asked.

"They're demanding to see Dennison. They want to meet the man who'll be paying them," Carling told him.

"Well, that's no matter," responded Aycliffe. "They'll have to wait until Dennison gets up, though."

"Don't be a fool, Aycliffe," snapped Carling. "What happens if Dennison starts chattering on about finding the perfect cattle for the darling ranchers? If these men realize he doesn't know what they're being hired to do, they're likely to think he might not pay them and leave."

"But he's not going to pay them," Aycliffe pointed out. "Why not just tell them their money is coming from somewhere else and leave Dennison out of it altogether. I don't know why you mentioned him to these men in the first place, come to that. It's you they're working for."

"I had my reasons," Carling told him shortly. "They think it's Dennison who's hiring them and I want it to stay that way. You come over and reassure them that everything's fine in your nice, convincing manner. Come up with some reason why Dennison's not available to speak to them. It'll only take a minute then you can get on with prising that cash out of Lancer."

Aycliffe didn't like what he was hearing. He wondered what Carling's 'reasons' were for exaggerating Dennison's role to these cattlemen. But he liked even less the look in Carling's eye as he gave Aycliffe his orders, so he turned his footsteps in the direction of the Old Bull and followed Carling into the saloon.

He was surprised when Carling led him to a table in the corner where a couple of young cowboys were sitting. He had been expecting impressive, and older, men but these looked like ordinary… his eyes dropped to their gun belts. Even sitting, it was apparent that those holsters were slung very low. And on second glance, these fellows didn't carry themselves like the average cowboy. They appeared more confident, more arrogant – and more wary.

"Gentlemen, this is my colleague, Mr Aycliffe," Carling introduced him. Aycliffe noticed he didn't give the men's names. Giving another quick glance at those guns, he decided it might be just as well not to know.

"How do you do?" he greeted them, careful to keep his voice steady. They nodded to him with a brief "Howdy" from both. Carling looked at him meaningly.

"I understand you would like to meet Mr Dennison," Aycliffe began.

"That's right," said one of the men, the darker of the two – Mexican, maybe, thought Aycliffe.

"Well, I'm sure he'll be delighted to meet with you a little later, but he is involved in some business discussion this morning. I can assure you, however, that he greatly appreciates the assistance you are giving us, especially considering the distance you have had to travel. Mr Carling has made sure you have everything you require, I hope?"

"Yeah," said the second of the two men, indicating the bottle on the table. "He's lookin' after us."

"Excellent, excellent. Now, if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I must be about a little further business. Mr Carling has all the details of the work Mr Dennison would like you to carry out. I am certain you will find all the arrangements satisfactory. Good day, so pleased to have met you." The two men simply nodded a farewell as Aycliffe took his leave of them and headed for the door of the saloon. Carling followed him outside.

"Good enough," remarked Carling. "That should keep them happy until later in the day, at least. By that time we may have some cash to give them – they'll find that more satisfying than meeting the boss, no matter what they say."

"In that case, you'd best let me get on with getting that cash for you," Aycliffe responded.

"And you'd better succeed in getting it. Where's Lancer?"

"At the hotel. And the sooner I get there, the sooner you'll be able to keep your friends happy. So if you'll excuse me …" Aycliffe nodded to Carling and walked off. He wanted to put some distance between himself and those two cattle experts who had turned out somewhat differently to what he had expected.

Carling watched Aycliffe head towards the Drovers' Cottage. He just hoped that Jardine was right and Lancer would be eager to hand over his money. And that Madrid and his partner had bought Aycliffe's story and were content to wait a little longer. He would go back to them now and make sure.

Carling re-entered the saloon then suddenly stopped. The two pistoleros were gone.


	13. Chapter 13

Scott was surprised, as he came back up the street, to see Perry going into the hotel. Up less late than usual two mornings in a row – his sojourn in the West might do the boy some good after all. At least he was sparing Scott the trouble of fetching him from Aycliffe's house again, with the accompanying bother of another probable chat with Aycliffe. Scott went into the hotel lobby.

Perry looked around in surprise as he entered. "Hello, Garrett, been out for some fresh air before breakfast?"

"After breakfast, actually. You're up a little early yourself, aren't you?" Scott queried, wondering what was behind the boy's appearance.

"I came along to make sure Mr Aycliffe found you alright," Perry informed him. "He said he wanted to see you but for some reason he didn't think you were staying here. I hope he hasn't missed you while you were out."

I hope he has, thought Scott. Aloud he just said, "Have you had breakfast yourself yet, Dennison?"

"No, I thought I'd have something here. I suppose the food is tolerable, is it?"

"They do a very good breakfast, actually," Scott assured him. "Come along, I'll have some coffee, myself." He led the way towards the dining room, looking forward to Perry's reaction to the hotel's cattle country breakfast.

As they entered the dining room, Scott noticed Joseph McCoy at a table near the window. McCoy had caught sight of Scott as well.

"Mr Lancer! Do come and join me."

"Thank you, Mr McCoy." Scott was pleased to accept the invitation. He was hoping that Jack Walker's assessment of McCoy was right, and McCoy was not actually intending to do business with Aycliffe at all. Here might be a chance to find out if that was the case – and for Perry to find it out, as well. He sat down, Perry taking the seat beside him. A waiter instantly appeared and poured coffee for them both. Scott was impressed with the level of service McCoy seemed to command, then remembered that McCoy owned the hotel. Perry was ordering breakfast.

"What would you recommend?" he asked Scott.

"Oh, give Mr Dennison the same as I had this morning," Scott told the waiter, managing to keep the grin off his face, he hoped. The waiter scurried off.

"And who is your friend, Mr Lancer?" McCoy asked, looking at Perry. Scott was surprised but made the introduction.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I assumed you had met. Mr McCoy, this is Mr Perry Dennison, from Boston. Mr Dennison is a business associate of Mr Aycliffe."

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr McCoy," Perry beamed. "Mr Aycliffe has told me all about your operations here in Abilene. Very impressive indeed, what you've accomplished in such a short space of time."

"Ah, yes, Mr Aycliffe, and his colleagues as well?" There was a shrewd look on McCoy's face which Scott noticed but Perry didn't.

"Oh yes, indeed, Mr Carling and Mr Jardine are both very admiring of you."

McCoy nodded. "Jardine, hmm, I thought so." He leaned back in his chair and looked at Perry. "Well, Mr Dennison, much as I'd like to wish you and Mr Aycliffe well in whatever your business endeavours may be here in Abilene, given the quality of your associates, I couldn't do so and remain an honest man. But I hope you enjoy your stay in Abilene, at any rate. Perhaps Mr Lancer can show you the better side of the cattle trade."

Perry sat stunned for a moment, his floundering almost visible. He was saved from the necessity of fashioning some sort of answer by the arrival of his breakfast but the expression on his face as he looked at the laden plate would make a devil laugh and a saint laugh harder, Scott couldn't help thinking. The two shocks at once were proving almost too much even for the Dennison demeanour.

"Not used to a cattleman's breakfast, Mr Dennison?" McCoy asked. There was amusement in his voice but it was good-natured. "A solid start to a solid day's work. I'm sure Mr Lancer agrees."

"Undoubtedly," said Scott, trying not to sound too amused himself at the idea of Perry Dennison doing a solid day's work. But his over-riding feeling was relief. It looked like Aycliffe's wheeling and dealing would be going nowhere, with McCoy at least. He wondered whether Aycliffe and his fellows had other plans in mind as well that they would try to persuade young Dennison into, but from the look on Perry's face, his faith in his would-be business partners had been well and truly shaken.

* * *

"You don't think we shoulda stayed and tried to get Carling to show us Jardine?" Isham asked Johnny. They were standing well back from the street, at the side of a building a short way up from the Old Bull. From there they could see Aycliffe heading towards the Drovers' Cottage.

"No, he was lying and stalling, him and Aycliffe," Johnny declared. "We would have had to push to get anything more out of him and more than likely he'd start getting suspicious. Better to leave him thinking we might be doing the job for him. We know Jardine is hiding in the saloon. We'll just have to watch for a chance, see if we can figure a way to make him poke his nose out. Aycliffe should be easy. He lives a little way out of town, Harkness said. All we have to do is meet him as he's strolling home."

"Trouble I see, Johnny, is that once we get one, the other two are gonna be warned and hole up somewhere. Better if we can get all three together," Isham observed.

"Yeah, if we can," Johnny agreed. "I think it might be a good idea to keep an eye on Aycliffe, watch where he goes."

"Why, where d'you think he might lead us?" queried Isham.

"Maybe to the mysterious Mr Dennison," Johnny tod him. "If he does exist, and he really is the boss of these others, then if we can get ahold of him we can use him to get the other three to some place convenient."

"Now, that just might work," declared Isham. "Hey, do you think if we finish off Mr Dennison as well, Harkness'll pay us extra?"

"I doubt it," Johnny said drily, "but if Dennison is one of the men behind these ranchers gettin' ruined, I won't be unhappy if it turns out we need to kill him."

"We just might be givin' Mr Harkness good value for his money, then," Isham concluded.

* * *

Carling strode towards Aycliffe's house after leaving Jardine. He wanted to keep an eye on young Dennison – the boy would still be needed - and besides, he was wondering about Garrett. If both Lancer and Garrett were acquainted with Dennison, as it seemed, then almost certainly there was some connection between them. It was too much of a coincidence otherwise; both arriving in Abilene at the same time and both trying to stop Dennison from putting his money into the deal.

Was Garrett working for Lancer? Or was he a business connection, or friend? The latter was more likely, thought Carling. Probably Garrett had heard of Dennison's prospective deal here in Abilene and had tipped off Lancer. There was no way a cattleman in California would hear about the doings of a Boston society boy unless it was through a mutual friend. What Carling wanted to know was why a Boston gentleman had thought a deal in Kansas would be important to a rancher in California. There had to be more to it than just the Lancers buying some land. If that was all, then Lancer would simply have gone to the ranchers with a good offer. No, there had to be more to it and Carling wanted to know what it was. Specifically, he wanted to know if it had to do with McCoy's cattle shipping concern, the concern that he intended would soon belong to him. If there was going to be any threat to the business that was going to make him rich and make up for the chance Harkness had ruined back in Huntsville, Carling wanted to know now.

He would go to Aycliffe's and wake up Perry Dennison, then get him to arrange a meeting – lunch perhaps – with Garrett and Lancer. He would talk to them together and see what he could find out. If he could persuade them to come to the Old Bull, so much the better. Madrid and his partner would probably be back there later, and he could give them a sight of two of their targets.

* * *

"Pa's painting the whole house," Netta Harkness told Reverend Thomas. "It's going to be a real gentlefolk's residence when he's finished, he says, but he doesn't want the paint fumes to make us feel sick while he's working."

"Well, that should be lovely for you all, Netta, and of course you're welcome to stay here," the minister smiled at Daisy Harkness and her step-children, who had arrived at his house a little earlier.

"It's very good of you, Reverend." Daisy was calm and composed as always, but Reverend Thomas knew the excuse her husband had given for sending his family to stay at the manse hadn't fooled her any more than it was fooling him.

Something was in the wind and they were both afraid of what it might be.

* * *

Johnny and Isham watched as Aycliffe went into the hotel. They were ready to make a start on the job they had taken on.


	14. Chapter 14

Aycliffe frowned as he entered the hotel lobby. He was wondering how to go about looking for Scott Lancer. The same clerk was at the desk as when he'd asked for Mr Lancer the last time and there didn't seem any point in repeating the exercise. But Dennison had been confident that Lancer was staying here. Aycliffe sat down on a sofa to think for a moment.

The sight of those two pistoleros – because that's what they were, never mind what Carling claimed – had unnerved him. The plan to scientifically spread the lethal Spanish fever amongst the ranchers' cattle seemed to have gone by the board. Carling obviously had something very different in mind.

Had Carling ever intended to do his part in ruining the ranchers? Aycliffe now found himself wondering. Or was Carling planning to double-cross himself and Jardine, with those gunfighters to back him up? But if that was the case, what was Carling expecting to get? The whole plan depended on wiping out the ranchers' herds so that they would have no choice but to mortgage their land in return for, as they thought, restocking with Longhorns. Aycliffe was no cattleman but he was pretty certain that two pistoleros would have no part to play in spreading a cattle disease.

The only conclusion he could reach was that Carling was planning some other game, something that needed hired gunfighters, and all his talk about getting a share of McCoy's business had been a blind. He'd used Aycliffe and Jardine to get hold of Dennison's money to pay his gunhawks and… Aycliffe went cold. If that was the case, then once the money to pay the gunfighters was there, he and Jardine would be of no more use to Carling and might well find themselves the first two targets for Carling's pistoleros.

One thing Aycliffe had learned over the years: when plans started going wrong, there was seldom any point in staying around trying to salvage them. Best to get what he could, then get out quickly. That's what he would do now.

He still had two options for quick cash: McCoy and Lancer. Either or both of them could put enough money in his pocket to have made this Abilene project worthwhile. Perhaps he could play them off against one another, convince each that he needed to put his money in quickly before the other beat him to it. Yes, that might work. He knew McCoy was afraid of the ranchers and would be eager to get them under control and protect his business. Lancer – well, he didn't know exactly why Lancer wanted land in Abilene but given the size of the Lancer ranch in California, whatever they were planning here in Kansas would be no small beans. Scott Lancer wouldn't want to run the risk of losing out.

Aycliffe felt more confident now. He was working in his own field again: negotiating, manoeuvring and aiming for quick results. He rose and went to the hotel desk. He would ask about Lancer once more and about McCoy as well, while he was here. He knew McCoy did a lot of his business here at the hotel. It was one reason he had built the place, to have somewhere to hold congenial discussions with the Texas drovers.

"Good morning. Has Mr Lancer arrived yet?" he greeted the clerk.

"Good morning, sir. I'm sorry, no Mr Lancer has checked in," the clerk answered. "I've been looking out for anyone of that name, as you were concerned about him the other day, but he hasn't arrived." Aycliffe wasn't really surprised. Dennison was a fool, that was the long and the short of it. Aloud he said,

"Well, it may be that he has changed his plans. Have you seen Mr McCoy today, by any chance?" he asked.

"Why yes, sir, he's in the dining room with Mr Garrett and another gentleman," the clerk told him.

"Thank you," Aycliffe said and headed towards the dining room. This was a bit of luck, at least. He wondered who Garrett was. Probably a drover who had brought a herd into Abilene and was negotiating prices with McCoy. It didn't matter; even if he couldn't start talking cash right away to McCoy, he could still insinuate that something had come up that needed speedy action on McCoy's part. In fact, that was sometimes the more effective method – get the other man scrambling to come to him. He entered the dining room and looked around for McCoy.

* * *

Carling was annoyed, when he got to Aycliffe's house, to find that Dennison had already left. It was a nuisance; he didn't want to go traipsing all over the town looking for the boy. He had to stay near the Old Bull to be there when the pistoleros came back. Well, there weren't many places Dennison was likely to go. He was too fastidious to pass his time in the Abilene saloons and he didn't know anyone in the town. Most likely he'd gone to meet Garrett, or perhaps Lancer, and was daintily sipping coffee in the hotel lounge. He just hoped the fool boy wouldn't get in the way of Aycliffe's negotiations with Lancer. Carling headed back to the Old Bull.

It occurred to him as he reached the saloon that Jardine might know something about Garrett. He seemed to know quite a bit about the people of Boston, especially the rich ones, and Garrett had certainly had the air of a man who was very well off. Carling entered the back room with the quick knock that was the signal. Jardine was there as usual.

"Garrett?" Jardine said in reply to Carling's rattled out question. "Yes, there is a family called Garrett in Boston. Harlan Garrett, very wealthy, a well-known businessman. He has a grandson and there are a few other relatives. Why? How do you come to have heard of them?"

"There's a fellow called Garrett in Abilene now, arrived a few days ago. He's a friend of Dennison's. He was acting very concerned about Dennison investing with us. I managed to convince him that everything was alright but with this Lancer turning up as well and knowing Dennison too, I started wondering. Is it a coincidence, do you think? Garrett didn't actually say why he was in Abilene, when I met him."

And you didn't mention that you'd met him, Jardine mentally added. But he said, "Could be. Harlan Garrett has fingers in lots of profitable pies. I know he has shares in a couple of railroad companies that are expanding west. What's this fellow like? How old is he?"

"Early twenties, I'd say. Blond, tall, talks like he's been to a good school, well-dressed – bit of a dandy, I would have said, but nothing like as bad as Dennison."

Jardine was nodding. "Sounds like the grandson. He could have come West for any number of reasons. Might be trying to talk McCoy into using a different railroad company, one his family has shares in. Or he might be on his way somewhere else and stopped off in Abilene to check on Dennison while he was passing. But you say he's convinced all is well there?"

"Yes, he's happy about it." Carling affirmed.

"No need to worry, then. He might or might not know Lancer. It's hard to think where a Californian and a Bostonian might have met, unless… how old would you say Lancer was, about the same age as Garrett?"

"I don't know, I haven't met Lancer. Why, what are you thinking?"

"Oh, just that they might have met in the army. As I recall, the Garrett grandson served in the war. But even if they are acquainted, they're unlikely to have any business interests in common. Whatever the Lancer ranch wants in Abilene, I can't see it being of any concern to the Garretts of Boston."

"Well, I hope so. Unless, of course, we can persuade Garrett to put some money in, too," Carling grinned.

"Perhaps you should suggest it to Mr Aycliffe," Jardine offered drily. "Although at the moment I should think he's being kept quite busy enough, negotiating with Lancer and McCoy. And your friends from down south have enough work waiting for them, moving those Longhorns around and taking care of any cowboys who try to interfere, as well as disposing of Lancer settling that old score of yours from Huntsville for you, without adding another dissatisfied investor to their list."

* * *

Aycliffe paused as he caught sight of the three men sitting together as he looked around the dining room, standing still for a moment to collect his thoughts. McCoy and Lancer together, and Dennison with them? Well, no point in trying to figure how it came about; here they were and he would have to adjust his tactics. He thought fleetingly that the desk clerk wasn't as smart as he tried to appear – here was Lancer in the hotel. He wondered what had happened to the Mr Garrett the clerk had mentioned – he must have already left. Aycliffe approached the table.

Dennison looked up at him warily and Lancer had a confident air about him that for some reason Aycliffe found vaguely disconcerting but McCoy greeted him with bland politeness.

"Mr Aycliffe, good morning."

"Good morning, Mr McCoy, Mr Lancer. I'm very pleased to see you both. I wonder if you might spare me a few minutes, if I'm not interrupting. I would like to discuss a matter of some importance to both of you."

"Of course, Mr Aycliffe, do sit down." McCoy indicated the remaining place at the table.

Scott watched as Aycliffe took his seat. He wondered what story the man would concoct for both him and McCoy. More links between Emerson and Longhorn cattle, perhaps? Or maybe Shorthorn cattle this time? He waited with interest as Aycliffe started speaking.

"Thank you. As you know, Mr McCoy, and as I must explain to you, Mr Lancer, my colleague Mr Carling has arranged for two experts, men of science, to come to Abilene to assess the condition of the locally grown cattle," Aycliffe began.

"Yes, Mr Carling spoke about that when Mr Dennison introduced us the other day," Scott told him.

Aycliffe looked startled. Had Carling not mentioned that meeting to him, Scott wondered. Then he realised that Carling would have mentioned meeting Scott Garrett, not Lancer. Well, at least there was some benefit to having two names, if it helped confuse these fellows and throw them off their guard. Aycliffe quickly recovered, however, and went on.

"Excellent! You will have a grasp of the situation then. Mr Carling and I have been speaking with the gentlemen this morning. They were making close observations on their journey here and their preliminary report is rather disturbing. It seems that if we are to be able to proceed with the necessary actions… "

"What actions?" queried McCoy.

"To protect your shipping business from the threat posed by the ranchers, as you have requested," Aycliffe clarified.

"I don't recall making any such a request, Mr Aycliffe," McCoy responded. Aycliffe was startled again.

"When Mr Carling and I offered our services, and suggested that a share in your company would be acceptable payment, you seemed to express an interest," he ventured.

"Expressing an interest is hardly the same thing as concluding an agreement when it comes to business, sir," declared McCoy with an air of faint amusement. "My operations here are under no threat from the ranchers. Their complaints are unpleasant, but nothing more. I have no need of your services and I have no intention of sharing an interest in my company with anyone," McCoy gave the idea a casual dismissal.

"But ... but I understood ... " spluttered Aycliffe.

"Actually, it seems you have misunderstood, Mr Aycliffe. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some real business to attend to. Good day to you, gentlemen." McCoy rose and walked to the door. He paused for a moment to say, "Oh, and Mr Aycliffe, you may give my regards to that played-out adventurer Jardine, wherever he's hiding, and tell him I have no intention of allowing my business to be pushed out of Abilene. Nor will I stand by while he and his fellows cheat and steal from honest men who have been forced to deal with them in Ellsworth. I have promised the drovers of the South West that I will provide a safe place for them to sell their cattle, and I intend to keep that promise." With that, McCoy nodded to Scott and Perry and left the dining room. Scott was pretty sure he was laughing – looking at Aycliffe's stunned expression, he was having difficulty keeping from laughing himself.

Aycliffe sat floundering for a moment as he watched McCoy leave the room, then he seemed to gather his thoughts and turned to Scott.

"Well Mr Lancer, I can only say that Mr McCoy's loss will be your gain. Since it appears that Mr McCoy feels no need to acquire an interest in these local landholdings after all, there will be far more available to the Lancers. Excellent news for you, I'm sure."

"For me?" queried Scott. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, Mr Aycliffe. I have no particular interest in land around Abilene. Whatever gave you that idea?"

"I was under the impression that the Lancer ranch was desirous of expanding its interest to Abilene and you were acting on behalf of Mr Murdoch Lancer to obtain land for that purpose." There was unmistakable bewilderment in Aycliffe's voice and, it seemed to Scott, a touch of panic as well.

"I do apologize but you seem to have jumped to the wrong conclusion. I am related to Murdoch Lancer but I have no knowledge of his business intentions and I have no connection with the Lancer ranch whatsoever." Scott watched for Aycliffe's reaction as his house of cards tumbled with irrevocable finality and for a moment was almost sorry for him. Here was a man who was finished.

Aycliffe stood up. "I'll waste no more of your time, then, Mr Lancer," he stated.

Perry rose as well. "I'll go along with you and collect my things from your house, Mr Aycliffe," he said frostily. "I appreciate the hospitality you've extended but I think I'll join Mr Garrett here at the hotel for the remainder of my stay in Abilene."

"I'll come along and give you a hand with the baggage," Scott declared, following as Perry and Aycliffe left the dining room. He wondered if Aycliffe had noticed Perry's use of the name Garrett, but it didn't matter any more. The affair was over with. He felt like cheering.

As they passed through the hotel lobby, Scott noticed McCoy in conversation with another man. Aycliffe marched past without a glance, Perry behind him intent on his own purpose, but McCoy waved Scott over as if the exchange with Aycliffe had never happened.

"Mr Lancer! There's a gentleman here I'd like you to meet."

"Go on, I'll catch up with you," Scott told Perry. Just as well to let the boy collect his things and get out of Aycliffe's house without the loss of dignity of having someone standing over him. He'd give Perry some time to pack then go along and make sure Aycliffe didn't give any trouble. He went over to McCoy and the other man.

"Mr Lancer, this is Major Kendal. Mr Lancer is connected with Mr Murdoch Lancer of California. You've heard of him, I'm sure, Major?"

"Yes, indeed, in fact I visited the Lancer ranch many years ago. You're John Lancer?"

"No, Scott Lancer."

"Oh, I do apologize. It must be almost twenty years ago, now, that I visited Lancer. And my memory isn't as good as it was – age catching up with me, I suppose," he laughed. "Good to see the next generation still involved in the cattle trade, though. Are you staying in Abilene for a while?"

Scott shook his head. "No, I expect to be returning to Boston quite soon."

"Ah, that's a difference between your generation and mine," the Major commented. "Young men these days think nothing of darting all over the country. And now that the railroad goes over the Sierras, you'll be doing even more of it, I suppose."

Scott murmured something non-committal, but smiled as he took a seat while McCoy and the Major went into a discussion which would probably have been interesting if he'd known anything at all about cows.

There was no point in going into explanations at this stage; he and Perry would be on the train back East tomorrow. He would only be a cattle baron's son for another twenty-four hours.

* * *

Jardine kept an eye out for Aycliffe. It seemed Aycliffe was the only one who had actually met Lancer and could point him out to Jardine.

"Aycliffe!" Perry and Aycliffe stopped at Jardine's call. Perry gave Jardine the briefest of nods and walked on. Jardine ignored him.

"Aycliffe, where is Lancer?" he asked. "I need to have a word with him."

"He's at the hotel," Aycliffe answered, "but he's talking with McCoy." He didn't want Jardine talking to Lancer yet; he wanted time to get well clear. And he didn't feel any particular need to deliver McCoy's message.

Jardine frowned. He was certainly not going to walk into the hotel and right into McCoy's presence. He would have to get Aycliffe to fetch Lancer.

"Just go back to the hotel and bring him over to the Old Bull, will you? There are things I need to find out," Jardine ordered.

"I haven't time," Aycliffe told him abruptly. "I have to keep an eye on Dennison." He turned and strode off. He wouldn't be running any more errands for Jardine. His plan was simple: get his belongings from his rented house and be on the next train out of Abilene.

Jardine's frowned deepened as he watched Aycliffe hurry away. Something was very wrong. The man was running scared – he obviously didn't want to go back to the Drovers' Cottage and if Lancer was in discussion with McCoy then there was probably good reason for Aycliffe's panic. Jardine went back into the saloon to rejoin Carling. He'd have to identify Lancer some other way and, whether from his own gun or with the help of Carling's pistoleros, get a bullet into him as quickly as possible.

* * *

Scott spent a polite few minutes with Major Kendal and Joseph McCoy then rose to take his leave. Best not to push his luck; too long a conversation about cattle would reveal his ignorance of anything more involved than which end the horns were on.

"Goodbye, Mr McCoy. Goodbye, Major, delighted to have met you," Scott nodded a farewell to the two men and left the hotel to go after Aycliffe and Perry.

Major Kendal watched him go. Nice to have met one of the Lancers again. And it certainly was good to see a young man continuing the family business. Not Murdoch Lancer's son, evidently. There had only been one little boy toddling around when Kendal had visited the ranch and he recalled now that little Johnny Lancer had been a dark-haired child; his mother was a Mexican lady. This Scott Lancer must be a nephew or cousin of Murdoch Lancer. I wonder where John Lancer is, thought the Major. Probably flits all over the country on these new-fangled railroads, too – could be anywhere between New York and San Francisco.

* * *

Johnny Madrid was on the north side of the town, keeping a watch on the road, Isham by his side. They saw Aycliffe striding along, a very young man with him.

"Hey, who's the kid," Isham wondered.

"Don't know," Johnny frowned. "I was hoping he might have Dennison with him… shh!" Aycliffe's companion was talking; they could just make out the words.

"Will you and Mr Carling be proceeding with your plans for the ranchers? It would still be a good long-term investment, I believe."

"That remains to be seen, Mr Dennison," Aycliffe declared irritably.

"That's Dennison?" hissed Isham.

"Appears so," replied Johnny. "Come on, just around that next bend there's a good spot."

Isham shrugged and followed Johnny.

* * *

Interesting, thought Scott as he walked along the road towards Aycliffe's place, that his father had apparently at least mentioned to Major Kendal that he had a son, even though the Major had remembered his name incorrectly. Still it had been, as the Major remarked, almost twenty years ago. Murdoch Lancer had obviously changed his mind in the meantime on the subject of acknowledging his son.

As he came to the outskirts of the town, he spotted Jack Walker coming towards him along the north road. He returned Jack's wave and was going forward to meet him when the sound rang out from further up the road, the way to Aycliffe's house – gunshots. Scott started running in that direction; Jack had spun around and was doing the same.

As Scott rounded the curve, he saw Jack kneeling beside something on the road. It was a body. Jack looked up as Scott ran towards him.

"They've got your friend!" he shouted.


	15. Chapter 15

Jack stood up as Scott reached the spot in the road where Aycliffe's body was lying.

"There were two of them," he reported. "They've taken young Dennison – looked like they'd knocked him out. They had horses – rode off that way." He pointed eastwards then turned and looked down at Aycliffe again. "Two shots, one to the head, one to the chest. I'd say they're professionals," he said grimly.

Scott strode towards the trees but the two horsemen and their captive were out of sight. There would be no possibility of catching up with them on foot. He came back to the road.

"If they were professionals, we need to find out who's hired them. You didn't get a look at them?" he queried.

Jack shook his head. "No, they were fast and smooth, organized. They knew what they were doing, that's another reason I think they were professional. No use chasing after them; you're right, better to find out who's behind it and track down your friend that way."

"Who would you guess?" Scott asked him.

"Carling, most likely. He could have been one of the gunmen himself. He and Aycliffe could well have gotten into some dispute and he's the only man around Abilene who would stoop to cold-blooded murder."

"What about Harkness?" Scott suggested.

"Harkness? I doubt it," Jack replied. "I could see him doing a lot of things to work against McCoy but I can't see him murdering a man."

"He seemed determined enough for anything, that time I met him," Scott countered. "And he might have the contacts to find hired guns, if he worked in Huntsville. I think I'll go talk to him."

"Very well," conceded Jack. "I'll go into town, check on Carling's whereabouts if I can. And I'll send out the undertaker."

Jack turned towards the town and Scott went back to the trees on the chance of finding some clue. Two sets of hoof prints pointed east but that was all. As Jack had said, it would be no use trailing them. The best chance was to find the man who was giving them their orders.

Scott started back along the road then realized that he didn't know where Harkness lived. Jack was busy dealing with the curious crowd that was rapidly appearing. Scott decided to step over to Reverend Thomas' and get directions to Harkness's ranch and maybe some advice on how to tackle the man.

As Scott approached the minister's house he saw two children playing in the front garden. Reverend Thomas was there as well. At the sight of Scott's grim expression, the Reverend beckoned him along to the church.

"What's happened?"

"Aycliffe has been murdered by two gunmen and they've taken Perry Dennison, presumably as a hostage," Scott told him.

Reverend Thomas closed his eyes for a moment then looked at Scott, worry etched on his face.

"Do you think it could be Clem Harkness behind it?" Scott asked.

"Yes. Clem sent his wife and children here this morning. I'm afraid it's almost certainly his doing. How could he be such a fool!" There was almost anger in the Reverend's voice.

"I'll go and talk to him," Scott decided. "Whatever he thinks Aycliffe and his fellows were doing, Perry's got no part in it. He'd pulled out of the deal and was going to Aycliffe's house to get his things and move out."

"Tell Clem that, Scott," Reverend Thomas urged. "I know he wouldn't want harm to come to an innocent boy. It's only McCoy and the men working with him that Clem is trying to fight."

"McCoy wasn't even dealing with Aycliffe; never intended to." The grim irony of that struck Scott.

"It will be McCoy that Clem will send the hired guns after next," the minister predicted. "Now that the first shot's been fired, it will seem easy to move on, but if McCoy is murdered I hate to think what the repercussions will be; for Clem, for the ranchers, for the whole town. I'll come with you, Scott, and try to talk some sense into Harkness before any more harm's done."

"No," said Scott, "it will be better if you keep well out of it all. There's Harkness's family for one thing – they're innocent of all this. They need to be kept safe. I'll handle it; tell me how to get to the Harkness ranch and I'll go now."

* * *

Jack Walker entered the Old Bull saloon. "I'm looking for Carling," he told the bartender, "is he here?" The bartender nodded and went to the door of the private room. He knocked, then stepped back to make room for Jack as Carling opened the door.

"Mr Carling, I'm afraid your friend Aycliffe has been shot," Jack watched for the other man's reaction.

"Dead?" Carling asked, startled.

"Yes," Jack confirmed. "We don't know who did it. The undertaker is bringing the body in. You can see him to make the necessary arrangements." Jack nodded to Carling and left. There was no need to stay around, Carling's astonishment had been evident. 'Sheriff' Walker would have to seek the killers – more importantly, Perry's kidnappers – elsewhere.

"What is it?" Jardine asked as Carling came back into the room.

"Aycliffe's been killed," Carling told him. "Don't know who by."

"Lancer! It must have been," Jardine declared. "Aycliffe said he'd been talking with McCoy. And there's no-one else. The ranchers wouldn't have the nerve to shoot a man in cold blood."

"You think Lancer's doing some deal with McCoy?" Carling was bewildered. "But why would he want to kill Aycliffe?"

"Because he sees Aycliffe – and us – as a threat to what the Lancers want." Jardine told him. "I know something of Murdoch Lancer. We need to get rid of this Scott Lancer now and get moving on our plans for the cattle right away."

"Madrid and his partner can settle Lancer for us," Carling stated. Jardine shook his head.

"No, we need your gunhawks to get to work scattering those cattle. Without that our whole plan will come to nothing. I'll find Lancer and take care of him myself."

* * *

Johnny and Isham sat in their camp beside a small creek, watching as a groggy Perry slowly came round.

"Looks like he'll be alright," remarked Isham.

"Yeah, you didn't hit him that hard," Johnny replied. "Give him some coffee once he's awake and keep an eye on him. I'll go to Harkness's and let him know we've made a start on the job."

"And collect our first instalment," added Isham. "Don't forget the important part, Señor Madrid," he admonished.

"Don't worry," Johnny assured him as he mounted up. "I want to get paid as much as you do. I didn't make this trip just for the fun of the ride."

He urged his horse across the creek and through the trees towards Harkness's ranch.

* * *

Scott left the church and walked swiftly across the town and along the road that led eastwards. He hoped he would find Harkness at his ranch and hoped, too, that Reverend Thomas was right and it was Harkness who had hired Aycliffe's killers, not Carling as Jack suspected.

He would far rather deal with a rancher trying to protect his livelihood, no matter how determined and desperate, than with a convicted murderer working off a grudge against his partners. There was at least a chance that Harkness could be made to listen to reason. It was what Scott was counting on.

* * *

Johnny left his horse tethered well out of sight amongst the trees and watched Harkness's house carefully for a while before approaching it. Harkness had assured him and Isham that no-one would be around for the next few days but he wanted to make sure.

Harkness came out of the house and stood on the back porch, looking around. He was alone. Johnny stepped out from the trees and waited. Harkness caught sight of him and beckoned him over. He didn't say anything as he led the way through the back door into the house.; Johnny also stayed silent as he followed him indoors.

Once in the back room of the ranch house, Harkness turned to Johnny.

"Well?" he asked briefly.

"We got Aycliffe," Johnny told him, equally brief. He was about to go on when there was a loud knock at the front door. Harkness cursed under his breath.

"Wait here and stay quiet," he told Johnny. He left the room, closing the door carefully behind him. Johnny went and stood beside the door, to be behind it if it was opened, and to hear whatever might be said. Harkness went to the front door and opened it. Scott stepped inside. He wasted neither time nor words – Harkness's set expression told him all he needed to know.

"Harkness, your gunmen have murdered Aycliffe and taken Dennison prisoner. Call them off, will you? McCoy wasn't even dealing with Aycliffe, he was just stringing him along. Any more killing will be pointless."

Harkness looked at Scott through narrowed eyes. "That doesn't match up with what I've seen and heard, especially as you've had at least one friendly chat with Tege Carling yourself. I won't interfere in whatever methods the men I've hired decide to use. The Abilene ranchers have had enough of McCoy's total disregard for us and for our community. We'll do whatever needs to be done."

"What's the use in killing McCoy, Harkness?" demanded Scott. "It won't change the fact that this town is a railhead for one of the main cattle trails up from Texas. There's money to be made here and even if you get rid of McCoy, someone else will just step into his place."

"We have no intention of killing McCoy," Harkness replied. "I'm not a fool, I know what sort of trouble that would cause. Our only aim is to make it clear to him that we won't be intimidated. We won't knuckle under to his threats and we won't be coerced off our land. If his hirelings get hurt in the process, well, that's their lookout. Now, Mr – whatever your real name is – I suggest that you stop masquerading as a cattleman and go back to Boston where you belong. Easterners like yourself will only get into trouble, interfering in what they don't understand."

Scott stood still for a moment, then turned and strode out of the house without saying anything more. He realized there would be no point in trying to explain to Harkness that Perry wasn't one of the hirelings, just a fool of a boy who had been duped. The pig-headed rancher would just declare that it was not his worry.

And as for masquerading as a cattleman, well that was certainly something Scott would not be doing again in a hurry. Cattlemen! He only hoped that once he got back to Boston, he'd never encounter one of the arrogant, infuriating breed again.

But first he had to get back to Boston and that meant getting Perry out of danger. Stupid as the boy might be, he didn't deserve to die at the hands of hired killers. Scott wasn't leaving Abilene until he had got Perry out of the clutches of those gunfighters. He hoped he could do it without getting involved in any bloodshed himself, but if it came to the point, well, he had brought the Colt .45 of his army days with him. If need be, he could and would use it.

Harkness waited until he was sure Scott had gone, then went into the back room where Johnny was waiting.

"Who was that?" Johnny asked.

"No-one to be concerned about," replied Harkness. "Just some fine gentleman from Boston who thinks he can tell the ignorant Westerners what they should do. Forget him." He pulled a roll of notes out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Johnny. "One third of the agreed price. You get paid per head, Madrid, just like I do for cattle. Get the others, and you get the rest."

Johnny pocketed the money. "I'll be back soon," was all he said. He left through the rear door he'd come in by, went back to his horse and rode away.

"Got it?" asked Isham as Johnny rode into the camp.

"Sure have," Johnny replied. He dismounted, pulled out the money, counted out half and gave it to Isham. Johnny was always meticulous when it came to dividing money. Isham, he knew, would trust him until the end of the job, but most other men in his trade wouldn't, so he'd got into the habit of sharing out fast and fair. He didn't want to find himself staring down the barrel of a fellow pistolero's gun.

"So when do we go after the other two?" was Isham's next question, as he stashed his share away.

"Now," Johnny said. Isham grinned.

"Good," he said, "I'm gettin' sick of playin' jailer." He jerked his head in Perry's direction. "Do we leave our fine Boston gentleman tied up here, or do we take him along?"

"Better bring him along," said Johnny. "There's always the risk of some busybody findin' him, then we'd have the trouble of huntin' him down again. Besides, a hostage is only useful when he's in range of our guns."

"Sure thing. Let's get movin' then," Isham said. He pulled Perry to his feet and shoved him towards the horse. Johnny frowned as he mounted up again. Isham's words had reminded him of Harkness' visitor. That Boston dude must have something to do with their prisoner; that was why he had been trying to get Harkness to call them off. Harkness was probably right, though. There was nothing to worry about. A fine gentleman from the East wasn't going to stand up and challenge Johnny Madrid.


	16. Chapter 16

Scott mulled over his next course of action as he strode back to the town after leaving Harkness. Those gunfighters could be anywhere around Abilene. There was no lawman to organize a posse for a search and he and Jack could hardly comb the countryside by themselves. It would be a case of waiting for the gunmen to appear and that meant second-guessing who would be their next target.

He headed for the Alamo Saloon as the most likely place for Jack to be waiting. He was right, Jack was there. Scott joined him at the table and Tillie brought him a drink. There was no cheerful flirting from her this time; the sober expressions on the two men's faces were clear to read. There was a plate of food on the table – the inevitable beef – but although it was well past noon by now, Scott wasn't hungry.

"It was Harkness," he told Jack briefly. "He didn't cover up. Told me the ranchers aren't out to kill McCoy, that's something I suppose, but they're determined to show McCoy that they won't knuckle under. In Harkness's own words, it's McCoy's hirelings that these gunfighters are being paid to go after, and Harkness doesn't care what methods they use."

"Hirelings," repeated Jack, "that means Aycliffe and Carling, I suppose, and young Perry by association."

"And Jardine as well, I would guess," Scott added.

"Who's Jardine?" queried Jack.

"He's a third member of this crew that Perry's got embroiled with," Scott told him. "An old enemy of McCoy's, I gather. He's been keeping out of sight, hoping McCoy wouldn't find out he was involved. You were right, by the way, McCoy never had any intention of making any sort of deal with Aycliffe and his friends. Perry had just found that out and was on his way to Aycliffe's to pack his things. Harkness didn't want to know about that though – wouldn't listen."

"So it's likely that the gunfighters will be going after either Carling or this Jardine next," Jack conjectured.

"That's about what I figure," Scott agreed. "So I intend to keep an eye on one or both, if I can, and grab Perry when the gunfighters show up. Assuming he's still alive," he added grimly.

"If they wanted him dead they would have killed him outright," stated Jack. "They must want him as a hostage, or bait. It's only once Jardine and Carling are dead that Dennison will be in danger. It will be a case of getting him out quickly, before that happens."

"That's what I'm aiming to do," Scott confirmed. "And I'm afraid that once I've done that, I don't really care if our friendly gunhawks do go after Carling and Jardine."

"Me either, nor anybody else, I would guess, except the town's undertaker. And that only because he won't get paid," Jack remarked.

* * *

Jardine and Carling prepared to leave the Old Bull, Jardine thinking how best to go about tracking down Scott Lancer. With Aycliffe dead, how was he to identify the man… of course, Dennison! Jardine had forgotten about the boy; hadn't really given much thought to him at all, in fact, once his money was in Foyle's bank. It had been Aycliffe and Carling who had insisted on bringing Dennison out west. He'd humoured them; it hadn't really mattered. But right now, Dennison might be useful. He stopped Carling as his colleague was walking out of the room.

"Carling, wait, what about Dennison? He was with Aycliffe. Where is he now?"

Carling shrugged. "I don't know. It was Jack Walker told me about Aycliffe, but he didn't mention Dennison. Why?"

"I want him to help track down Lancer," Jardine told him "And we'll have to get him to the bank, to get Foyle to release the money. I'll go look for him. Or – wait – where's Walker? He might have seen Dennison."

"Not sure," Carling replied. "At that new saloon, maybe. I think he's one of the favoured clientele that they let in."

"I'll try there, it's on the way to Aycliffe's house, anyway, and that's where Dennison seemed to be heading. Come along, you'll need to introduce me." Jardine strode out the door.

Scott and Jack were coming out of the saloon when Carling and Jardine approached.

"That's luck," Carling declared. "There's Walker now and that's Garrett with him – the one I told you about, Dennison's friend." He went up to Jack and Scott.

"Mr Walker, Mr Garrett, this is my colleague, Mr Jardine. He's concerned – we're both concerned – about young Mr Dennison. Mr Jardine saw him in company with Mr Aycliffe earlier. Have you seen him since… "

Jack was silent but Scott replied to Carling's question.

"I'm afraid I have no knowledge of Perry Dennison's whereabouts," he stated briefly. It was the perfect truth – and he saw no reason to elaborate to this pair.

Jardine frowned. "We won't hold you up then, Mr Garrett. Good day." He turned and strode away, Carling following.

Jack looked after them. "I wonder what they want Dennison for?"

"I don't know," replied Scott, "but whatever it is, it's probably the least of Perry's worries right now. Keep an eye on them, would you, Jack? I need to fetch a couple of things."

"Will do," Jack nodded and started walking in the direction Carling and Jardine had taken. He wondered about the name Garrett; he'd heard young Dennison using it as well. Probably a nickname Scott had picked up in Boston – they came up with all sorts of foolishness in the East. He'd ask Scott later; right now there were more serious things to deal with.

Scott in the meantime headed down the street to Moon's store. He needed to buy some .45 bullets, then he would go back to the hotel for his gun.

* * *

"Carling, go get your pistoleros to work on those cattle. I'll find Dennison and Lancer," Jardine ordered.

"Right," Carling said and thankfully turned back towards the Old Bull. He was hoping the pistoleros would show up soon, or perhaps be there already. He didn't like the way things were going and would feel a lot better with a couple more guns on his side.

Jardine headed towards the Fidelity and Mercantile Bank. Chasing all over the town after Dennison would take too much time, he had decided. There was one other person who might be able to put him on Lancer's trail – the banker, Foyle. Jardine had met him only once, when he had first set things up here in Abilene but, as was his speciality, knew all about him – which in the case of Samuel Foyle meant knowing that there was nothing to be known. He wondered if Foyle had heard about Aycliffe yet and just how scared he would be when he did hear. He went into the bank.

The way the banker jumped when Jardine walked unannounced into his office told Jardine that he had heard about Aycliffe. And that he was very scared indeed. Jardine wasted no time on polite greetings.

"Mr Foyle, I believe you are acquainted with a Mr Lancer who is in Abilene at the moment. I would be obliged if you would introduce me to him. There is a certain business matter which he and I need to discuss." Jardine's peremptory tone produced, if possible, even more nervousness in Foyle.

"Yes, of course I would be happy to do so, Mr Jardine, but I don't know exactly whereabouts Mr Lancer might be. He has many friends in the town and…"

"Where do you think might be a good place to start looking?" Jardine interrupted him. "I know he was at the hotel earlier."

"We could certainly try the hotel," Foyle quickly agreed.

"Let's go, then." Jardine held the door as Foyle donned his hat and led the way out of the bank.

Scott came down the stairs of the Drovers' Cottage. It felt strange to be wearing a gunbelt again. He didn't bother trying to conceal it although his smart Boston jacket covered the gun and made it a little less blatant. But more men in Abilene wore guns than not and the gunbelt was probably less conspicuous than the jacket.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, two men entered the lobby: Foyle and Jardine.

"Ah, Mr Lancer," Foyle began, a look of relief evident in his face, "how fortunate to find you so quickly. Mr Lancer, permit me to introduce Mr Jardine, a business associate of Mr Aycliffe whom you met… " Foyle suddenly stopped, recollecting the current status of Aycliffe.

Jardine stared at Scott for a moment. Scott was startled at the other man's vehement expression. He was getting used to puzzlement when folk encountered his two names but Jardine's reaction looked like sheer fury.

"Thank you, Mr Foyle, I won't keep you any longer. I know you are busy," said Jardine icily, without taking his eyes off Scott.

"Yes, yes indeed, if you will excuse me gentlemen, I really must return to the bank, very urgent business, you know. Good day to you, good day," Foyle dashed off his excuses and scurried out of the hotel at a pace that would have left a startled rabbit well in the rear. Jardine addressed Scott.

"I'm not going to play games, Lancer," he declared. "Let's go somewhere we can discuss this matter in private."

"Fine by me," Scott responded. Jardine must be aware of the part he'd played in trying to block Perry's money, he supposed. He wondered what sort of 'discussion' Jardine had in mind but the man was playing nicely into his hands. He was happy to go along with Jardine to somewhere less frequented than the Drovers' Cottage, somewhere the gunhawks were more likely to make their move. He followed Jardine out of the hotel, his gunbelt feeling more comfortable by the minute.

Jardine was silent as he led the way to the Old Bull. So Lancer had been spying under another name, had he? That was final proof, if he'd needed any. And with Dennison as a willing accomplice by the sound of it. Well, he would take care of both of them. The Lancers and their friends would learn to keep their noses out of other cattlemen's business – two of them dead would make an impressive lesson.


	17. Chapter 17

Johnny and Isham rode to within sight of the Old Bull Saloon, Perry, jacket dirty, face bruised and hands securely tied, held firmly in place in front of Isham. They stayed behind a clump of trees for a few minutes, watching. There were some outbuildings behind the saloon: an icehouse, a storage shed, a couple of outhouses. As they watched, Carling came out the back door of the saloon and went into one of the outhouses. When he came out a few minutes later, he didn't go straight back into the saloon but stayed outside, pacing back and forth and looking anxiously around.

"My turn to go out; you cover," declared Isham. It was their usual technique. Both out in the open made them too vulnerable. One would go out to confront the target, the other would stay concealed, watch, cover the one working. They took turns; this one would be Isham's kill. They dismounted and tied the horses then moved out of the tree cover.

"Here, you take him for a while," Isham grinned, shoving Perry towards Johnny. Perry stumbled and Johnny grabbed him.

"Come on, you and I will find a nice spot to watch from," he said, dragging Perry to a vantage point at the corner of the storage shed. Isham moved quietly along beside the wall of the icehouse.

Johnny gripped Perry's arms even more tightly.

"Now, you make sure you understand," he ordered Perry. "You do as you're told and you say what we tell you to say to Jardine and Carling. If you don't, or if you say the wrong thing, there will be a bullet put into you, right? We might not want to kill you right away but a bullet in the arm or leg can make a real mess. And if you misbehave too badly we'll remember that you can't cause us trouble dead. Got it?"

Perry nodded, wincing with the pain of Johnny's grip.

They watched as Isham waited until Carling's pacing had him looking the other way, then stepped out.

"Well, hello there," he greeted Carling.

* * *

Scott was wary as Jardine led the way to the Old Bull and went, not in at the main door, but around the side of the building. To his relief, Jack came up and joined them as they walked along the passage between the saloon and the building next door. He gave a querying look to which Jack responded with a barely perceptible nod and quick jerk of his head toward the rear of the saloon.

As Jardine rounded the rear corner of the building he suddenly stopped and stepped back, jostling Scott. He turned and spoke hurriedly.

"No, around this way…" he stopped as he noticed Jack. "Mr Lancer and I have some private business to discuss, Mr Walker," he stated coldly.

"Oh, I'd like Mr Walker to come along," Scott interceded. "I'd value his advice on any business to do with Abilene." He heard voices from behind the saloon building; one of them he thought he recognized. "That sounds like Mr Carling. Who's he talking to?" he asked.

At that moment a voice, quivering with terror, shouted "Mr Jardine!"

* * *

Carling jumped as Isham's greeting came from behind him. He turned, and was relieved to see the gunhawk.

"There you are," he kept his tone matter-of-fact. "You and your partner will need to be getting on with that work on the cattle. Time is important."

Isham smirked as he realized that Carling still thought he and Johnny were going to work for him. He wondered why Aycliffe's murder hadn't tipped him off. Perhaps he hadn't heard about it yet, or perhaps Aycliffe had plenty of enemies who could be to blame. Whatever the reason, it looked like this was going to be an easy job after all.

"Well, now, we'll have to see what Mr Dennison wants us to do, won't we?" he teased.

Carling frowned impatiently. "Mr Dennison has given me clear instructions to relay to you. I have his full authority."

"But you gotta do what he tells you, right?" chuckled Isham.

There was a sudden movement at the corner of the saloon building. Isham's gun came out. Carling's gaze flickered briefly to the source of the movement then back to Isham – and to Isham's gun pointed in his direction.

As Johnny watched, a figure appeared briefly around the corner of the building behind Carling and Isham then hurriedly moved back. It looked like there might be others behind him but the sun was just setting and the glaring light in Johnny's eyes was making it difficult to see.

"Do you know who that was?" he asked Perry.

"Yes, it was Jardine," Perry answered quickly, too terrified to think of being anything but co-operative.

"You just call your friend Jardine out here, will you?" The nudge of his gun kept Johnny's words from being a polite request. Perry complied, although his voice was shaking as he called out,

"Mr Jardine!"

At the sound of Perry's voice, Scott drew in his breath sharply. Then he shoved Jardine in the back.

"You seem to be wanted, sir!" he remarked.

He gave another push that sent Jardine sprawling, but out into clear view, Scott hoped, of whoever was holding Perry. Scott moved up to the corner of the building. He stayed in the shelter of the wall but could see Carling facing another man – a man who had just drawn a gun. Scott drew his own. Jack stood a little way behind; he was unarmed but Scott knew he could be relied on to back Scott with his fists, if that was the best way, or fetch help if that would be more use. A man with good judgment could be as excellent an ally as a man with good aim.

Jardine clambered to his feet. Carling was staring in astonishment at the smirking gunfighter in front of him. Jardine also stared at the gunhawk for a moment then spun around in fury to look back in Scott's direction. He reached inside his coat, but puzzlement and alarm suddenly jumped across his face and he began wildly looking around. At the same moment Isham raised his gun and took aim at Carling.

As Isham was about to fire, Jardine dived for the gun that was lying on the ground where it had landed after dropping from his pocket when he fell. The distraction was enough for Carling. He was fast, as fast as most gunhawks himself, although like many fast on the draw, not accurate. But his first shot spun the gun out of Isham's hand and his second had the gunfighter on the ground, clutching his leg. Carling raised his gun for the final shot.

Scott knew he had to act. If that gunfighter died, Perry's life would be worthless. The boy would be killed in retaliation without a second thought. He dashed forward, firing at Carling's right shoulder as he ran. He hoped it would be enough,

It wasn't. Carling lurched forwards for a moment with a yell of pain, but as Scott neared the gunfighter, Carling transferred the gun to his left hand and took aim.

Scott didn't underestimate the danger; he had encountered ambidextrous gunmen before now. He fired again, this time aiming at the heart. Carling slumped to the ground.

A burning pain slashed his left arm. He looked around. Jardine was aiming straight at him, about to fire again. Scott raised his gun, knowing in the instant he raised it that it might be an instant too late. Then a yell came from the direction of the storage shed.

"Jardine!"

Scott saw the other man whirl around, his gun still raised. A shot rang out and Jardine fell.

Scott dragged the gunfighter to the cover of the icehouse wall then looked back. Carling lay still and Jardine hadn't moved from where he had fallen. An army officer and a war veteran, Scott knew when men were dead.

* * *

Johnny pulled Perry back toward the trees to where the horses were tied. He knew he'd killed Jardine and it had looked to him like Carling was dead too - Isham must have managed to get off a shot. But that friend of Jardine's had got Isham. It had been hard to see, with that setting sun dazzling his eyes, but he was pretty certain Isham had been alive when he had been dragged away.

Johnny hadn't got a good look at the man who had captured his friend but he was unlikely to be a lawman – there was no lawman and no jail in Abilene, so chances were that Johnny would be able to intercept them on the road if the man tried to take Isham to jail in another town. He just had to get clear now and hang onto Dennison. He could let him go once he got Isham free. Or kill him if he didn't.


	18. Chapter 18

"Get him out of sight, quick!" Jack hissed to Scott. He turned and walked back to the rear door of the saloon, scooping up Isham's gun on the way.

Scott dragged Isham behind the icehouse, a hand clamped firmly over his mouth.

"Make one sound and you'll end up being hanged. Stay quiet and you might stay alive," he told Isham firmly. Isham nodded and Scott took his hand away. From their hiding place they could hear Jack talking to the saloon owner and a couple of other men who had rushed out to see what was happening.

"Looks like your guests had a little disagreement," Jack said to the saloon owner.

"Not surprised," the other man grunted. "Well, they paid in advance. No worry of mine if they check out early. I'll send a boy round to the undertaker's to get them cleared away. Here, Billy," to one of the other men, "throw some canvas over them in the meantime."

"Right," Billy nodded and dragged the canvas covers off the woodpiles. He draped them over what was left of Carling and Jardine then followed the other men back into the saloon. Jack strolled away, apparently with no more interest in the scene but Scott was confident he wouldn't be going far away. He looked down at Isham, slumped on the ground. Blood was gushing from the wound in the gunfighter's hand.

"Here, let me tie that up." Scott pulled a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and wrapped it around Isham's hand, winding it tight to stop the bleeding. "Do you think you can make it over to those trees?"

"Yeah, if you lend me a hand," replied Isham. He clambered to his feet, leaning heavily on Scott, and managed to limp to the clump of trees, Scott half supporting, half carrying him.

Scott breathed more easily once they were amongst the tree cover. They were concealed well enough to escape notice but could be found fairly easily by anyone looking for them, as Jack would be.

"Hey, you're hurt too!" Isham exclaimed. Scott's jacket sleeve was torn and blood was seeping through where Jardine's bullet had grazed his arm.

"Oh, that's nothing," replied Scott. "Just a surface burn."

Isham looked at the handkerchief binding up his injured hand. "How come you didn't fix your arm first?" he asked in puzzlement.

"You're hurt worse, and it's your gun hand, too," Scott answered. "That leg is going to need attention as well. That bullet needs to come out."

Isham was silent. He wasn't used to anyone bothering about a gunfighter – most didn't. He recalled that deputy in Tucson. A lawman was supposed to get medical attention for any prisoner who needed it but the deputy had let Isham lie for two days with a bullet in his shoulder without sending for a doctor.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone approaching. Scott jumped to his feet, alert, but relaxed as he heard Jack's voice singing 'Lorena' off-key. Jack came into view, leading a horse.

"Left him at the blacksmith's this morning," he told Scott. "With all the fuss going on, I hadn't got around to collecting him yet. Let's get our new friend here onto him and to somewhere safe."

"Where are you thinking of?" Scott asked as he eased Isham as gently as possible into the saddle.

"O'Keefe's old cabin. It's good enough shelter so long as it doesn't rain."

"Say, why do you want to hide me?" asked Isham. "Why don't you just send me off to the nearest jail?"

"What for?" Jack replied. "Neither of us is worried about getting justice for Aycliffe, or Jardine. If there's anyone unlucky enough to be their next of kin, they can stir up the law if they like, but I don't want to have to go traipsing up to Topeka to give evidence at a trial. And you're going to be useful getting young Dennison back from your partner. That's all we're interested in. Right?" He looked over at Scott.

"Exactly," Scott agreed and added "besides, that's my bullet in Carling's body, remember? I'd rather not have any official questions asked."

"Oh, no need to worry about that, Scott," Jack told him. "I had a little checking done on friend Carling – got a wire back this morning. Seems he jumped parole, plus he had a hand in a couple of robberies between leaving Huntsville and arriving in Abilene. There'll be no trouble on that score – as a matter of fact there's a reward offered, if you want to claim it."

"No, thank you!" demurred Scott. "The undertaker can claim it if he wants; get his costs covered after all."

"Wouldn't be the first time he got paid that way," Jack remarked. "Abilene is that sort of town these days, I'm afraid."

They came to a dilapidated cabin beside a small creek. It clearly hadn't been lived in for a while but there were still a few pieces of furniture inside – a rickety table, some shaky-looking chairs and a bunk with a straw tick – and some old kitchen items on a shelf beside the fireplace. Scott didn't like to think of what might be living in the straw tick, but it was a place to lay the gunfighter down. The man's face was pale and the short ride had obviously brought on a lot of pain.

"It'll be dark soon," commented Jack. "Best keep him here till morning, then we can start hunting for his partner and Perry. I'll go and fetch what I can to make you a little more comfortable."

Scott nodded. "I don't think he'll be going anywhere right away, but I'll stay here and make sure he doesn't wander off. He's our best chance for getting Perry back alive."

Jack mounted the horse and rode off. He was back in half an hour with some blankets and a packet of food. He put it on the ramshackle table.

"You owe Tillie a vote of thanks. Or were you generous to her last night?" Jack grinned.

"I'm sure Perry was," Scott told him. Jack raised an eyebrow and chuckled but the laugh died out. There was too much contrast between last night and tonight.

"There's some bread and cold beef," he said. "And coffee as well."

"I'm not sure there's anything here to make coffee in," Scott remarked.

"There's an old frying pan up there. You can use that," suggested Jack.

"Coffee in a frying pan? You're kidding!"

"Why not?" Jack retorted. "You've gotten too used to Boston fol-de-rols, living back East. How's our friend holding up?" he added, looking over at where the gunfighter lay, eyes closed.

"Alright, but those wounds need proper attention. I had a look at his leg while you were gone – that bullet's pretty deep."

"Well, I brought some bandages, and this." Jack brought a flask out of his pocket. He went over to the gunfighter, who had opened his eyes when they started talking about him. "Here, take a swig." The gunfighter took a swallow from the flask and handed it back, with a brief, "Thank 'ee."

"What's your name, anyway?" Jack asked him.

"Isham," the gunfighter replied.

"Isham? That all? Just the one name?" Scott queried.

"Yeah, just the one," Isham replied.

"Well, at least he does have only one," Jack remarked, with a quizzical look at Scott.

"Why, how many names you got, Mister Boston?" Isham asked curiously.

"Sounds like I just got another one," Scott responded drily. "But whatever your name might or might not be, I think we need to get you to a doctor."

"Gettin' me to a doctor would be the same as gettin' me into jail and gettin' me hanged," Isham retorted.

"He's right," agreed Jack. "How's your field surgery, Captain?"

Scott shook his head. "I wouldn't even try. I'd do more harm than good. What about you?"

"Same. I'd make an even worse job of it than you, probably," Jack averred. "We'll just have to bandage him up and hope for the best."

"Why you worryin'?" asked Isham. "It's not gonna kill me. I'm not gonna die on you before you get your friend back."

"You're hurt. That's reason enough, isn't it?" Scott answered him.

"Not for most folks," Isham muttered. "For a gunhawk, most folks wouldn't bother."

"You're hurt yourself, Scott," remarked Jack, indicating Scott's arm. "How bad is that?"

"It's only a graze," Scott assured him. "It's stopped bleeding. I'll clean it up in a minute. You get home – Sarah will be worried. I'll take care of our pet gunhawk."

"Alright," Jack conceded. "I'll leave the horse in case you need to move somewhere else quickly. I'll be back in the morning." He squeezed Scott's shoulder and left.

Scott picked up a bucket from the corner near the fireplace.

"I'll go find some water and get that leg of yours cleaned up. Then we can see how frying-pan coffee tastes," he grinned. "I'll be back in a minute."

"Yeah. Hey, Boston," Isham called to Scott as he was going out the door. Scott turned and looked back at him. "Thanks for botherin'."

"You're welcome," smiled Scott.

* * *

Johnny and Perry were camped above Mud Creek. Johnny had chosen a spot overlooking the place where he and Isham had camped the previous night. He hadn't gone back to the same place in case anyone had got any information out of Isham about where he might be found, but he wanted to be able to see it in case Isham managed to escape and came back there to join him.

"Johnny?" The gunfighter looked up as his prisoner spoke.

"Yeah?"

"Johnny, why did you kill them? Aycliffe and Jardine and Carling?" Perry asked him.

"Why? Because we got paid to do it. What sort of stupid question is that? It was a job we took on," Johnny returned.

"But why were you paid to do it?" persisted Perry. "And why did you agree to it? You must have thought there was a good enough reason to kill them, otherwise surely you wouldn't have taken on the – the job, money or no money."

Johnny looked at him in amused amazement. "You sure have no idea how things work do you? The money is good enough reason. Isham and me, we're professionals. It's how we make our living. The reason don't matter. We just do the job and get paid."

Perry was silent and Johnny was uneasy. Uneasy because, for this job anyway, what Perry had said was true – he had chosen the side he thought had the most right, even though Harkness was paying less. Of course he wouldn't have done it if he hadn't been getting paid, he was a professional. And he didn't have to give any explanations to this kid. Still, there was no harm in letting him know…

"Don't you think what you and them are tryin' to do to the ranchers is reason enough?" he threw at Perry.

"Do? We were trying to help them?" Perry blinked in astonishment.

"Help them?" snorted Johnny. "Don't give me that. You wanted to hire us too, remember? Your man Carling wanted us to stampede the Longhorns, run them all over the ranchers' lands. I ain't no expert on cattle diseases but I reckon that would spread this Spanish fever right through the ranchers' herds and wipe 'em right out. You call that helpin' them? I don't know who'd you'd be helpin' but it sure wouldn't be the ranchers."

Perry stared at him, open-mouthed. "It was you Carling was hiring? He said he was bringing scientific cattle experts from Texas to decide the best type of cattle for the local ranches, to keep them from being ruined." His astonishment was clear and Johnny looked at him in puzzlement.

"Carling said it was your idea," he informed Perry, "said you were his boss. Said you needed a couple of men killed as well." Johnny thought he'd seen men less aghast with a gun pointed in the face. The kid was genuine.

"You really didn't know, did you," he stated.

Perry shook his head. "I thought I was getting involved in something good. Something that would make a lot of money but help a lot of people too."

"Well, next time, make sure of what you're gettin' into," Johnny said with a wry twist of the mouth.

They were silent for a few moments. Johnny drew the coffee pot off the fire and poured some of the steaming liquid into two tin mugs. He handed one to Perry who thanked him and took a sip.

"You make good coffee, Señor Madrid," he complimented, with an attempt at a smile.

"It's an old Mexican recipe," Johnny replied, setting the coffee pot back onto the hot embers.

"Johnny… " The gunfighter looked up.

"Thank you for choosing the right side."

"You're welcome," smiled Johnny.


	19. Chapter 19

There was little sleep got in the old O'Keefe cabin that night. Isham tossed about with the pain from his leg and hand. Scott had given him most of the contents of the flask Jack had left, but the effect was a long way from adequate.

Scott lay on the smooth dirt that was the floor, rolled in one of the blankets. He was too much on the alert to sleep, uneasily aware that Isham's partner could appear through the doorway at any moment. Not that he didn't want to make contact with the other pistolero to arrange an exchange of prisoners; it was simply that he suspected Isham's partner's idea of negotiation might be one or two very swiftly fired bullets.

He heard a suppressed grunt of pain from the bunk. Isham was pulling himself into a sitting position. Scott rose, filled a cup with some of the remaining water and brought it over to Isham, who drank it off quickly. Scott hoped it wasn't a sign that the gunfighter was running a fever.

"Thanks," said Isham, handing back the cup. "Not sleepin' much, either of us, are we?"

"In spite of our palatial accommodation," Scott smiled. He moved to the fireplace and poked up the embers of the fire, throwing on a few sticks of wood to make a small blaze.

"I've slept in worse," Isham said, adding "though I guess you never have." Scott's thoughts flitted to the Confederate prison camp where he had spent the last months of the war.

"Yes, I have," he told Isham.

The answer clearly surprised Isham, but then he said, "The other fellow called you Captain; guess you were in the war, huh?"

"That's right," affirmed Scott.

"That explains the good shootin' back at the saloon, then," Isham commented.

Scott gave a wry smile. "From a gentleman of your profession, I'll take that as a compliment," he acknowledged.

"That's how I meant it," Isham told him. "It was a lot to do though, wasn't it? Killin' a man and riskin' gettin' killed yourself. Was it all just for the chance to get that Dennison feller free?"

"Yes, it was. I thought if I let you be killed, your partner might kill him in revenge. I couldn't take a chance on that happening," responded Scott.

"Why's he so important to you? He a friend o' yours, your brother or somethin'?" queried Isham.

"No, he's not really anything to me, it's just that – I've given my word that I'll get him home safely. I promised his sister," Scott explained.

"So it's your job, then? You said you'd do it and you're goin' to, no matter what?" Isham asked.

"Yes, I suppose that's it," Scott answered with a wry smile. Isham nodded, as if that was something he understood. Then he grinned and asked, "Is his sister pretty?"

"Yes, very," conceded Scott.

"Makes the job a little easier," remarked Isham, still grinning. Scott said nothing, but he was smiling. Isham fell silent, the grin fading as he sat looking into the fire for a minute. Then he spoke again.

"Must be nice to have a sister worry about you that much." Something in the distance of his voice touched Scott.

"Do you have any family, anyone who worries about you earning your living the way you do?" he asked Isham.

"Naw," Isham answered, "leastways, I got a brother somewhere, but he ain't gonna do any worryin' about me." He gave a snorting laugh. "Was him who started me learnin' to be a gunhawk, sorta."

"Your own brother?" Scott's voice held astonishment. "How? Why?"

Isham looked at him curiously for a moment as if wondering whether the interest was real. Something must have told him it was. Looking half into the fire and half at Scott, he started a story he'd never told the whole of to anyone before.

"See, our ma died when I was about ten. Don't know who my pa was, nor his neither. Our ma didn't know herself, I reckon. She was a whore, worked around the bordellos in the border towns. But she liked stealin' too. We'd get to one place and she'd work awhile, then she'd get her hands on somethin' and we'd leave in the middle of the night. She changed her name every new town we got to." He paused and laughed. "I never rightly knew her real name. Guess that's why I never bother usin' a last name now. They called us 'Smith' when we landed in the orphanage 'cause we didn't have any name to call ourselves by.

"Well, Daniel, that's my brother, he was in the orphanage about three years 'til he was fifteen and could leave. I had to stay another couple o' years but I thought when I left I'd find him and we'd stay together, y'know. Stupid. Well, I got outta the place when I turned fifteen and I tracked him down. He weren't far away. I thought he'd been waitin' for me. Real stupid, I was. He was with a bunch of others, small-time crooks, y'know. Well, they thought it was real funny, the baby brother turnin' up, all ready for a lovin' reunion. They started pushin' me around, knocked me down.

"I expected Dan to help me but he thought it was funny, just laughed. He didn't want no nuisance of a little brother hangin' round, see, makin' him look foolish with his new friends. I wouldn't go, though, so they started beatin' me, hard. I was real stubborn, kept tryin' to get to Dan, still thought he didn't mean it. Finally, they pulled guns on me, started firin'. I got shot in the arm – still got the scar. I couldn't fight against the guns. It was the guns that made them stronger than me. I decided then and there that it wouldn't happen again. From now on, I'd be holdin' the gun. I learned to shoot and I learned good. And I found out that gunhawks make good money. So here I am."

Isham finished his tale and sat still, his gaze on the fire.

"Have you seen your brother since then?" Scott asked him.

"Naw, no reason to. He made it pretty clear back then that I meant nothin' to him," Isham answered.

Scott was silent, baffled at how anyone could throw away something as precious as a brother. After a moment Isham spoke again.

"You got any brothers?"

Scott shook his head. "No, I haven't."

"You ain't missed out on nothin'," Isham assured him. After a moment he went on, "You know, I don't reckon Johnny – that's my partner – I don't reckon he'll make any fuss about handin' Dennison over to you. We've finished the job, we don't need him any more."

"Finished the job," repeated Scott. "Three men dead and it's just a job of work for you?"

"It's a job I said I'd do. When I take on a job I see it through, no matter what. That's somethin' to be proud of in any trade," Isham averred.

"Even the trade of killing for money?" queried Scott.

"You been in the army. You musta done some killin' in the war and you got paid," Isham pointed out.

"That's hardly the same thing," commented Scott.

"Well, you did your part on this job. It was you took out Carling. That makes us brother gunhawks," Isham grinned.

"You can leave the gunhawk part out!" Scott protested. "But wise men have said we're all brothers," something made him add. Isham's gaze flickered to his face, then back to the fire. He spoke, half to Scott, half to himself.

"If you'd been my brother, I wouldn't a' been a gunhawk."

"You don't have to be," Scott offered. "There are other ways to earn a living, other ways to be. I'd help you."

Isham turned and looked at him and for a moment there was an expression of – was it hope? – on his face. Then his bravado seemed to return and he laughed.

"Naw," he said. "I'll stick with what I am. I've got my trade and I'm good at it, that's enough for me."

Scott felt a disappointment, and a strange sadness for this man who believed that a trade of killing was all he had, all he could have. But though he could offer the gunfighter a choice between two lives, in the end it was up to Isham to do the choosing. There was little more Scott could do.

And in the meantime he had another obligation, another man to worry about. He looked over at Isham and spoke.

"I still have a job to finish. I hope you're right about your partner being willing to release Dennison."

"I guess he will be, if I ask him. Of course," Isham gave Scott a questioning look, "he might want somethin' in exchange – like me." He paused, as if waiting for Scott's reaction to the suggestion.

"Well, that's what I was planning to offer," Scott replied.

Isham was surprised. "You were? You weren't plannin' to hold onto me?"

"Why would I want to hold onto you?" queried Scott. "Like Jack told you, neither he nor I want the bother of testifying at a trial, not for the likes of Aycliffe and Jardine. I just want to get Perry Dennison back and get him safely home."

"What about Dennison? Won't he be chargin' us with kidnapping? He might not like you lettin' me go," Isham was still doubting.

"Perry's in no position to be choosy," Scott retorted. "If he doesn't like it, I'm not worried. I'm not going to resort to holding a gun to your head while your partner holds a gun to Dennison's, if there's a nice simple way to resolve things."

"But he'll be sendin' the law after us later," stated Isham.

"Not if I can keep him from it," responded Scott. "It would only make more worry and upset for his father and sister. His father's an old man; I want to spare him as much trouble as possible. And it's not exactly perverting the course of justice," he added wryly. "By the time we get to anywhere that has a law office where Dennison could start laying charges, I think you and your partner will be so far away that chasing after you would be a waste of effort."

"Yeah, we won't be stayin' around to admire the scenery," Isham admitted. "If you're willin' to just exchange me for Dennison and wave goodbye, then let's go find Johnny and get the dealin' underway. You'd better let me do the talkin', though," he added.

"Do you know where to find your partner?" asked Scott.

"Yeah, we got ways we always use to meet up if we get separated," Isham told him. "It's almost sunup," he went on. "Let's get goin'. I sure ain't gonna get any more sleep."

"Fine by me," Scott agreed. "I'll get the horse saddled." He left the cabin.

Isham reached for the flask and drained the last of the whiskey while he waited for Scott to come back. He knew moving was going to hurt but pain was nothing new to him. He looked down at the fine silk handkerchief that still bound up his right hand. Most fancy folks like this Boston dude would value the handkerchief more than a gunfighter's life. Guess he'd stumbled on someone different.

"Will you be able to get somewhere you can get that bullet taken out?" Scott asked Isham as they made their way along a half-path towards Mud Creek.

"Yeah, my partner will take care of me," Isham assured him.

They came near to the clearing where Isham and Johnny had camped the previous night. While they were still amongst the trees, Isham told Scott to stop and slid carefully off the horse.

"Best you stay back here, outta sight," he instructed. "Johnny, he's real fast on the draw, especially if he suddenly sees someone he ain't sure about."

"Alright," Scott complied. "Isham…" he stopped the gunfighter as he was about to move away. "Don't forget this." Scott handed Isham the gun Jack had picked up at the saloon. Isham looked at it for a moment in surprise.

"How do you know I can't shoot left-handed?" he challenged.

"I don't," Scott replied, "but I think I'll trust you." Isham tucked the gun into his holster, then limped into the clearing and sat down on a log.

"Hey, Johnny!" he called, and waited.


	20. Chapter 20

Johnny jumped to his feet at the sound of Isham's voice and moved to a spot where he had a clear view of their old camp. In the barely-breaking dawn light he could just see a figure seated there. He went back to where Perry was sleeping – very badly, on the ground for the first time in his life – and roused him.

"C'mon, Dennison," Johnny shook Perry awake. As Perry clambered upright Johnny spoke to him.

"Look, Dennison, I got no argument with you. Seems like you weren't out to do any harm to the ranchers, after all, you just picked up the wrong friends. But I gotta get my partner back and you're my best guarantee of doin' that. Isham's down there but I don't know if he's escaped or if someone's watchin' him, so I'm gonna be careful.

"I'll let you go once I know Isham's free and safe but 'til then I gotta hang onto you. And if you try to run, I'll have to stop you. You understand?"

"I won't cause you any trouble, Johnny," Perry promised.

"Let's go then," Johnny took hold of Perry's arm and started him down the slope towards the old camp. He found himself hoping he wouldn't have to hurt the kid, but he was taking no chances.

Johnny pulled Perry to a stop at the edge of the clearing. He drew his gun and held it ready, then called out.

"Isham!"

"Johnny!" his partner called back. "Johnny, Dennison's Boston friend is willin' to trade me for him. He says he don't want nothin' else, won't come chasin' after us. He just wants Dennison back safe, is all."

Johnny looked across to the other side of the clearing. He could just make out a figure standing within the meagre tree cover only a few yards behind Isham. If he let Dennison go, Isham would still be an easy target if his captor went back on his word…

"We can trust him, Johnny," Isham's voice came again. "Send Dennison out."

Isham sounded sure. And the only other way out of the Mexican standoff that Johnny could see was to go out into the open himself and become another target. Even with Dennison as a hostage, the tree cover would give Isham's captor enough advantage to pick off both Johnny and Isham before Johnny could get an accurate shot. Johnny decided he was going to have to take the chance.

"I'm covering you, Isham!" he shouted, then pushed Perry out into the open.

"Looks like your friend's over in the trees behind Isham. Get goin'. "

Perry needed no urging. He bolted across the clearing as a voice called, "Over here, Dennison!" Garrett, thank God! He kept up the pace until, panting hard, he reached the place where Scott was standing beside the tethered horse.

Johnny waited until Perry had disappeared then carefully ventured out, gun still at the ready. Isham stood up and started hobbling towards him. Johnny quickly went over to help his friend. As he came near the edge of the clearing, he could just make out a horse moving off, two men mounted on it.

"You hurt bad?" he asked Isham.

"Nothin' that can't be fixed, I reckon," Isham reassured him, though he was wincing with pain as he said it. "But I've had enough of Abilene, by plenty. Let's get what Harkness owes us and get out of here."

"We should go after McCoy!" declared Johnny. "He's the one causin' all the trouble for the ranchers. We can find him easy, he's the biggest man in the town..."

"Why?" Isham interrupted him. "They didn't hire us to get McCoy, it was Carling and the others we were paid to kill. We got the three of 'em, we done our job. And you know yourself, Johnny, if you kill a man like McCoy, someone important, you gotta get out quick and get far away. I can't ride fast and I can't ride far with this hole in my hand and a bullet in my leg. No point gettin' hanged for somethin' we ain't even gettin' paid for!"

Johnny would have gone after McCoy; it wasn't the money he was thinking of. But he looked at his friend. Isham was in pain; Johnny needed to get him somewhere he could be taken care of. And that Boston dude had been right – kill one profit-grabbing bastard, and another one will just step in. Johnny Madrid was going to have to leave this fight to someone else.

"Come on then," he said, putting his friend's arm over his shoulders. "It's a long ride to the border. But I know this great cantina ... "

* * *

Scott waited, tense, as Isham spoke to his partner. He held his gun drawn and ready but he didn't want to start exchanging bullets with a professional gunfighter – despite Isham's compliments, he knew he would probably come off worst and Perry would almost certainly be killed. The seconds ticked by like eternity then he heard the other pistolero's shout and saw Perry dart out from the trees. He called out and the boy ran to where he was waiting. Scott grabbed him and hustled him into the saddle, jumping up behind him and urging the horse back along the creek path. He saw no point in lingering for fond goodbyes. Perry was shaking like a leaf in the saddle in front of him but pulled himself together enough to say, "Thank you, Garrett." Scott had to admire his dedication to good manners. But he knew the boy meant it, as well.

"This is Jack's horse," he told Perry. "We'll take him back to Jack's place and with luck Sarah will invite us in for breakfast. Her biscuits are delicious," he assured him. Biscuits for breakfast – the vision was delightful. Scott tried to focus on it but his thoughts kept going to the man he'd been unable to help in the real ways that mattered.

Scott looked back over his shoulder. He could just make out two figures moving off in the half-light, one supporting the other – Isham and his friend. He couldn't quite shake the feeling that he hadn't done enough. Isham was going on with the life he'd chosen, a life with little more in it than killing until the inevitable day when he was killed himself.

But Scott knew it was pointless thinking about it. Words were all very well but Isham wasn't his brother. If he had been, Scott wouldn't have let him limp away, back to the life of a gunhawk. He knew that for certain. If he'd had a brother who had become a gunfighter, he would drag him out of that life, if it meant going to hell and back.

* * *

Scott and Perry sat with Jack in the Alamo Saloon the next day. The eastbound train would leave in half an hour – they were having a farewell drink, Tillie flitting around them. Scott had slipped her a twenty-dollar gold piece earlier, with a word of thanks for her help with the food and blankets.

"She'll be busy soon," Jack remarked, "the grand opening is in a couple of days. Got special entertainers arriving tomorrow." He indicated a newly hung banner that proclaimed 'Direct from Chicago: Angel Day and her Sunshine Girls'.

"Sure you won't stay another day or two?"

"No thanks, Jack, the clam chowder of Boston is calling," Scott replied. Jack shook his head.

"Give me good beef and potatoes. At least we know how to eat well in the West."

They rose to go, Perry looking wistfully at Tillie as they moved towards the exit. Just before they reached the door, she darted up to him and pulled his head down for a long, serious kiss. Scott and Jack kept walking but slowed their pace so Perry would be able to catch up. They even managed to suppress their grins when he rejoined them and Scott tactfully didn't mention the fact that the deep maroon of Perry's coat clashed dreadfully with the bright red of his face.

Reverend Thomas was waiting at the railway depot to see them off.

"Clem Harkness took his family home today," he told Scott. "but I may have them as guests again soon. Clem is planning a trip to Topeka, to lobby for some legal protection for the ranchers."

"I'm glad to hear that," Scott said, and meant it. He'd tried to keep detached from the arguments going on but he couldn't help feeling that the ranchers had the right of it. And he could understand Harkness's determination to protect what he'd worked so hard to build. He was pleased the man was putting that determination into the right channels, for a peaceful solution instead of a violent one.

"It's been good to see you again, Scott," the minister said as they shook hands in farewell. "Write sometimes – keep in touch."

"I will," Scott promised.

"And Scott," the Reverend added, "once the Transcontinental Railroad is finished, it will be an easy trip from Boston to California." Scott gave a rueful smile.

"I'll remember that, if I'm ever invited to California."

* * *

The train gathered speed, heading eastwards across the Kansas plains. Perry seemed to be regaining his normal buoyant spirits. Now he remarked, "You know, Garrett, I've been thinking. Those western boots might make quite an impression back in Boston. I may even start a new fashion. Boston does look to the Dennisons to lead the way, you know."

Scott clamped down his exasperation. Perry was Julie's brother after all. Perhaps he should give Julie some sympathy. He recalled Isham's words, "You ain't missed out on nothin'."

He looked out of the train's window, towards the south. He supposed Isham and his partner – Johnny, wasn't it? – had gone in that direction. He noticed two wagons, covered wagons. They were going west. Trains travelled west now, too, he thought, all the way to California soon. But this train was going east, back to his life in Boston, back to civilized comfort, back to his grandfather, back to Julie. This was the train he wanted to be on.

* * *

It was a small dinner party at the Dennison mansion, just the Dennison family plus Scott and his grandfather. Scott and Perry had been back three days and their relatives had been told as much about the happenings in Abilene as Scott judged they needed to know. Julie Dennison was on Scott's arm as they went in to dinner.

"I can never express how grateful I am to you, Scott… Mr Garrett," she quickly corrected.

"I quite like it when you call me Scott," he smiled at her. She smiled back up at him, her most winning smile. The grandson and sole heir of one of the richest and most powerful men in Boston. Yes, he was worth being pleasant to.

"Our cook has prepared something special – beef bourguignon. I do hope you like it," she told him as they entered the dining room.

"It sounds delightful," Scott responded. With Julie sitting next to him while it was served, he was sure even beef would be.

After dinner, as the gentlemen enjoyed brandy and cigars, Harlan Garrett and Arthur Dennison plunged into the business talk they found irresistible and Scott found himself in conversation, such as it was, with Perry.

"There really does seem to be a wealth of opportunity in the West," the younger man declared. "I'll keep a look out, I think, you never know what might come up. This one didn't work out but next time, who knows?"

"Next time, make sure of what you're getting into," Scott advised, with a wry twist of the mouth.

Perry started. It was the words, but not just the words. There was something else, something so vague he couldn't put a finger on it.

"What is it?" asked Scott. Perry shook his head, as if clearing an image from his vision.

"Just that when you said that … you reminded me of that gunfighter Johnny."

"I remind you of a Texan gunfighter? Well, thank you very much!" protested Scott.

"Sorry, Garrett, it was a silly thing to say," Perry apologized.

Of course it had been a silly thing to say, Perry Dennison chided himself, to say and to think. A connection between Scott Garrett and Johnny Madrid? What an absurd idea!

* * *

Acknowledgment: This story draws on "Historic Sketches of the Cattle Trade in the West and South West" by Joseph G. McCoy for both inspiration and information. Jack's story of McCoy and the railroad executive is taken from Joseph McCoy's own narrative. Joseph McCoy, Old Man Jones and the hotel manager Mr Gore were historical persons. All the other characters and all the events in the story are fictitious.


End file.
